


Home

by NuMo



Series: Curtains And Masks [5]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Endgame, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:37:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuMo/pseuds/NuMo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Goin’ home, goin’ home,<br/>I’m jes’ goin’ home...”</p><p>And a crowning moment of awesome for an Admiral.</p><hr/><p>Part Five of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/18811">"Curtains and Masks"</a> Series. I strongly suggest you read the other four first.</p><p>I don't own Star Trek nor anything connected with it, but I do own my own characters. I'm not making any profit, although I hope to reap some feedback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reaching out (April 2nd)

_Not all those who wander are lost._

* * *

“Dear Mrs. Janeway,” I feel a little self-conscious talking to a camera, but at least I’m alone in the lab. Harry left after explaining how to start and stop the recording, curious as nine cats put together but well-mannered enough not to ask, to my great relief. I don’t think I could have explained this without compromising the captain’s privacy. 

“This feels strange,” I go on, letting my eyes rove over the equipment so that she’ll know what I mean. “It’s probably quite strange for you, too, receiving a message from _Voyager_ that’s not from your daughter. I’ve asked Kathryn if she… but that’s the wrong way round, isn’t it? I’m sorry. 

“I guess I should start with telling you a little about me, and why I’m sending this.” I clear my throat. “Well. My name is Marie Vey, I’m a social worker, thirty-two years old and I’m… new to _Voyager_. The ‘how’ is really, really a long story, too long to tell here. If you’ll allow me to shorten it to an almost ridiculous briefness, I… I’m here because I love your daughter.” I pause. My speaking, not the recording – Kathryn’s mother might well see me swallow, hang my head and smile a goofy smile. I guess I’m blushing, even. Looking up, I continue, “I don’t regret that, either – Kathryn is amazing, but I guess you knew that. Hell, you – oh sorry, I shouldn’t swear – I mean, you’re responsible, right? As her mother. Um, thank you, for that.” I flip up my hands and grin apologetically. “This is really crooked, isn’t it? Maybe I should have scripted what I wanted to say. But I’ve been thinking that this way, you’ll get a more accurate picture of me than if I sat up six nights in a row to think up something really elaborate and well thought-out.” My hands move vaguely in front of me, as if trying to paint something elaborate of their own.

“You’re probably wondering who I am, and how we met, things like that. I can’t tell you much about the ‘how’ without sounding crazy, which wouldn’t be a smart move, right?” I grin, lopsidedly. “But I’ll try to tell you about the rest without boring you, or repeating myself. No guarantees, though, sorry for that. I’m a bit scatter-brained when I’m nervous, and I’m nervous as h-” I stop myself in time, “-anything, right now.” I grin again, proud this time. 

“Why don’t you get yourself a coffee, or tea, or whatever you might be having – I’ve often wondered where Kathryn gets her addiction from, you know. I promise I’ll wait until you’re back. I don’t drink coffee at all, myself, but I do find a cup of tea very… helpful, at times. Heavens, I’m craving one right now,” I grin a little sheepishly and, after a few moments’ pause, go on, “yeah… I’m a tea person, and not even black tea, at that… I’ve become quite adept at making coffee, though – necessary survival skill, I guess. I’m getting good with that replicator, too, but Neelix’ kitchen really gets me going. Kathryn’s told me that you cook the traditional way, too, and that we could talk shop when she introduces us, which… well.” I swallow.

“You see, Kathryn doesn’t know I’m recording this. But then again, she looked so guilty last time I asked that I’d _swear_ she hasn’t told you, and it’s been quite a while that I’m here now, and I’m… well, I guess you would want to know, right? And you’d probably be angrier the longer she doesn’t mention it, so I’ve been feeling it was up to me. Feel free to tell her I say ‘hi’, by the way. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it, when she stops being flabbergasted. I love that word. I really love ‘main stage flux chiller’ too, it sounds like a phenomenal party drink, but I guess I’m digressing, right? Sorry about that. Did I mention being scatter-brained?”

I take a deep breath and, looking at fingers that insist on maintaining a conversation of their very own, try to get some order into my thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I keep trying to imagine you, Kathryn’s mother, stranger to me, who’ll be listening to this. I guess what I’m trying to get across, across several thousand light years, and equipment I don’t really know how to use, and a complete lack of any knowledge about you except for the cooking bit,” I take a deep breath and look up at the camera again, a hopeful smile on my face, “is that I’m in no way lunatic, but simply madly in love with Kathryn. Please. Please believe me. Oh, and scatter-brained, yeah…

“So… if I had a daughter, and someone said they loved her, I guess I’d want to know whether… whether my daughter is happy with that someone. I…” I look at my fingers again for a moment. Kathryn’s mother probably knows her daughter’s ability to express emotions well enough. Then my eyes return to the camera, a lopsided smile in tow. “I think so. I mean, I do my best to make her happy.” Again, I look down. To my right, and back at the device again. “I do hope she’ll… I have some idea of how she’ll react when she finds out I contacted you on my own.” I quirk my lips and roll my eyes just a little, and finish on a slightly worried grin. “But you see, I… I _know_ she sends you messages regularly, and… well, I’ve stopped asking; I think she would have told me if she had indeed told you about… about us.”

Taking a deep breath, I go on, “I’m not doing this to go behind her back, or to make her, or you, feel uncomfortable. I… just wanted to… say hello, I guess. I know you’re important to her, and she’s probably just as important to you, too; and I wanted you to know that… Kathryn is… important to me, and she makes me happy. Very much so. She… she holds a piece of my heart,” realizing how cheesy this might sound, I swallow and go on quickly, “well, I guess I hold a piece of hers, too, and… I’ll take good care of it.” Then I try to find a smile that’ll indicate that, corny as my words have been, they’ve also been the truth.

“Oh, one more thing you might be wondering – well, um… how do I put this?” My eyes rove the room, looking for words, “I’m doing my best not to let my presence distract Kathryn from what she’s doing. She’s… from the very beginning I’ve known how dedicated she is to getting this crew home. It’s everything for her, and she’s sacrificed-” I break off. Really, that’s Kathryn’s bit to tell, right? “Ah well,” I sigh, “I’m sure you know, or can imagine. I don’t know if… I mean, you’re her mother, surely you… you must be so _proud_ ; heavens, _I_ am. She’s so… strong. I mean, it’s hard on her, of course, but she’s… she’s _doing_ this.” Again, my eyes and hands support my words with messages I never scripted.

Another deep breath. “And I wouldn’t be a good partner if I distracted her from that, now would I? No…” I sigh, smiling. “No, I’ve known, from the beginning, that this will always come first for her, and… and I’ve thought about it, quite… extensively, and it’s… it’s fine. We’re trying… we’re both… well. I don’t think we’re quite finished with… finding our feet in this, but we’re doing well, so far, I think.” I run that sentence past my inner ear again, and nod. “The people here on _Voyager_ ,” I go on, and an involuntary grin spreads across my face, “have been incredible. There’ve been some bumps and lumps in the beginning, but…” my grin turns into an eye-sparkling smile, “I’ve heard the word ‘finally’ quite a few times, and I guess if people feel they can express _that_ to _me_ , we’re fine. I don’t know if Kathryn quite realizes yet; she’s still a little jumpy at times, but…” I give a little shrug, “as I said, we’re finding our feet, still. I think that’s part of it.” 

I look at the chronometer on one wall-mounted screen and jump, myself. “Oh, uh,” I grin the lopsided grin again, trademark of this message, it seems, “it’s almost time for the next person to record their message… I would really, really love to hear from you, and please, as I said – feel free to tell Kathryn that I’ve sent this to you. I’ll try to… I think I might tell her yet before you do… depending how quick we both are, but then again, this is not a race, is it?” I smile. “Mrs. Janeway, thanks for your patience with this… unscripted bit of rambling, and… well, thank you. I’d love to hear from you, and I hope we’ll meet one – no, not one day. I hope it’ll be soon.” I give a little wave, and then press the button that ends the recording. 

~~~

Kathryn looks at me askance, eyes unreadable, every inch a starship captain in full control, even though we’re on the sofa, not the bridge. “You sent that?”

I shrug. “Uh, yes?”

“To my mother?”

“Yes? You asked to see it, and this is it.”

“Were you serious?” Her eyes narrow. 

So do mine. “Of course I was – what kind of question is that?” 

“You’re fine with coming second?”

“So _that’s_ what…” I breathe out, relaxing a little, careful not to smile. “Of course I am. The last weeks were… well, if they were any indication of the way things will be, really, I’m fine.”

“Marie, you’re…” She raises, then drops a hand, mutely, shakes her head. We’re sitting on the sofa, monitor on the little tea table, vase back where it was before my stumbling broke it. Replicators are a marvelous thing, aren’t they?

“Kathryn.” I wait until I have her eyes. “You told me you’d try. And you’ve done, you _do_ , far more than that. And I asked you to trust me, and you do that, too. This is _working_ ,” I turn to her fully and take her hands, “at least from where I stand. And I thank you for all of it.” She swallows, and her eyes fill. “Not quite ready to believe that?”

Her gesture is something between a nod, a shake, and a shrug, as shaky as her smile. “I think I need a bit more…”

“Scientific evidence?” I offer, head tilted, mouth a-quirk. “Votes of confidence?”

“Time,” she exhales, “to…” I can see her search for words, and again, she shakes her head, frustration with herself plain in the way her lips purse. 

“Well, we do have that.” I kiss her, gently, and she shudders and draws nearer to me. “So what did _you_ tell your mom?”

She sighs. “Computer, access my latest private message, and replay on screen.”

When the image appears on the screen, she’s in her ready room, and somehow, this is exactly how I picture her there, even if I’ve only been there the one time. Uniform impeccable, cup of something steaming in front of her. From this angle, impossible to tell whether it’s coffee or tea, but this is so… _her_. The left corner of my mouth quirks. She can’t possibly see it, sitting on my right, but it seems my eyes give me away – her shoulder jams into my side. I’m glad that she sits too close for elbow action, and let my eyes sparkle as they will. 

“Good morning, Mom – well, at least it’s morning here. I hope the weather gods are merciful to you, and your garden is coming along nicely.”

I can’t help but chuckle, even though I catch a shoulder again. Small talk? But – Kathryn’s mother gardens. That’s good to know. I did, too, once upon a universe. 

“Thanks for your last message and the heads-up about the Doctor’s novel – we did have some… action… about that, already, and he’s mortified that it got out before he could stop the publishing company. He’s already apologized so profusely and so often that I didn’t have the heart to tell him you’ve seen it. But please, believe me,” she holds up her hand, two fingers up, two slightly down, so familiar that I smile again, “he’s very, very angry about the whole affair, and I’m sorry that it upset the neighbors this much. I’m forwarding you the public statement he made after the arbitration; feel free to pass it to whoever contacts you about the matter.”

She presses a few buttons, probably to attach the recording, and looks into the tendrils rising from her cup. “Mom, I… there’s something else I want to tell you, and I have no idea how, and up until now I haven’t told you for that very reason, but it’s… slowly getting embarrassing.” She’s blushing, too. “And I do believe you’ll get angrier the longer I don’t tell you – you’ll probably twist my ear regardless, anyway, but I’m hoping that what it _is_ I’m trying to tell you will mollify that impulse a little.”

A deep breath, followed by a shaky smile. A shy smile. A completely, utterly loveable smile. Pulling Kathryn close, I kiss her cheek. I don’t turn my eyes from the screen, though. She’s already going on there, and I don’t want to miss a word.

“I’m… I’m in love. And… well.” She takes a sip, but the cup doesn’t hide the force of her blush. Hell, but it rivals her uniform. God, how I love her. “You know, I… last time I loved someone I… I told you after the fact, for various reasons as you’ll remember, but this time… it’s different. We’re right here on _Voyager_ , and… and I…” then the words come out in a rush, “I think it might be working. I don’t know if I dare hope yet, and there’s no wood around to knock on, so please Mom, go find some-”

“Computer, stop playback.” I have to. Her words are so close to what I’ve just told her, to what she has such difficulties believing, and seeing her channel her stubbornness into _making_ herself believe… I cup her jaw in both my hands and shower her face in soft, gentle kisses, and she shudders again, one hand digging into my shoulder. “Kathryn…” Her eyes are tightly shut, her jaws even more so. “Kathryn, love, don’t be afraid. Don’t be so afraid.”

“But I am.” Her voice has never been so pressed.

“Trust us. Trust yourself.” I pull her head up until she meets my eyes, then release her chin to run a finger down her cheek. “Trust in this.”

“What about trusting you?” she asks with a little frown.

“Trusting me is not the problem, is it?” I know she does. She drops her eyes and shakes her head, and again, with one hand this time, I tug at her jaw until her eyes come up again. “Surely the stalwart, valiant Captain Kathryn Janeway is not daunted by as simple a thing as a relationship?”

She rolls her eyes. “As if relationships were ever easy.” Then she sighs, and runs her fingers through my hair, her eyes roving my face. “I… just don’t know, you know; I never had a relationship like this. As captain of a starship, on that starship, I mean. I don’t want to do anyone wrong, you see? Not you, nor my crew.” Her eyes meet mine, and I can see how utterly important that is to her.

“But you don’t,” I tell her. “You’d know if this crew was unhappy, attuned to them as you are. And if I felt… wrong, or unhappy about something, I’d tell you. As long as you don’t hear from either of us, consider things… right.”

“Easy as that?” She plainly doesn’t believe it.

“Kathryn.” I catch her hands, kiss her fingers, look at her intently. “I’m not one for promises. You see, you promise someone eternal sunshine and just like that,” I snap my fingers, “it starts to rain. There are so many things about the future that we can’t control that I find most promises frankly ridiculous. But. I do promise, and I mean every word of that, that I will always be honest and up-front with you. If I’m unhappy with something, I’ll tell you, and when I’m happy – well, you’ll be trying to shut me up after a while, I guess.” She leans her forehead against my nose, a shiver running through her body again. “If that sounds new or strange or scary, even,” a nudge of her head is the reward for my mugging, “well you better get used to it, because I can’t be any other way.”

“Now she tells me,” Kathryn murmurs wryly, and I have to kiss her again because her tone of voice tells me she’s over this latest bout of fear and doubt, now. And indeed, even as we kiss I can feel the corners of her mouth relax, and come up.

“Is there more to the message?” I ask her when we pull apart.

“Oh, yes. Computer, resume.”

“Sorry,” Kathryn on the screen apologizes, looking appropriately contrite. “It’s just… Mom, do you know these moments when you’re absurdly happy and then you’re afraid that something bad will happen just for karmic balance?” Absurdly happy? She wins another kiss for that. “I feel like that, at the moment.” And another.

“You’re probably wondering who this person is – well, so did everyone on the ship. It’s incredible how fast rumor travels on a starship, have you ever realized that? I’m digressing, I’m sorry. Well.” She’s blushing again. I stop removing my lips from her temple. It has the added bonus of having her perfume in my nose, too, that flowery, citrus scent I like so much. “Mom, you see, I… I fell in love with a woman. I know, I know,” she holds up her hands, both of them this time, and I smile into her hair, “I teased Phoebe something terrible the first time she dated a woman,” whoa – my eyebrows shoot to my hairline at that particular bit of information, “and I’ll very stolidly bear every bit of pestering she sends my way once I get around to telling her… which I haven’t yet. Of course I haven’t. I wouldn’t tell her before I told you. I… guess I’m working my way through this myself, too.” She sighs with a smile.

“I haven’t felt like this in a long time, Mom. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this. I mean, of course it’s different with a woman. I did believe Phoebe when she told me that, I mean, it figures, doesn’t it? It’s… the way we are around each other. Well. I don’t know if it’s because it’s _a_ woman, or because it’s this woman…” I lose her next words, because my chuckle is frankly wicked, and, seated as we are now, her arms have more freedom and I have to watch out for them. “-a social worker, would you believe that?” She laughs, on screen, and I right with her. “I never realized – when you’re in a relationship with one of them, she can’t counsel you any longer. Wouldn’t be professional. I wish I’d known that decades ago-” oh, I’m making a list of this, for later. I don’t want to miss anything else she’s saying. “-spared myself a lot of… well. I’m digressing again. 

“Her name is Marie, and she’s… um… a bit younger than I am, and a bit taller, well, more than a bit. Almost as tall as Chakotay is, in fact. She’s… oh, I have to find a picture to send you, Mom; to me, she’s beautiful. Strong, in body and mind, and quick, and she’s got the most wonderful, silly laugh,” I raise my eyebrows and chortle. Her choice of things to tell her mother is… interesting, to say the least. “Her eyes – they laugh too, you know. She reads a lot; she can get lost in a book, like me. And she’s playful, and brave, and definitely more patient than I am, which is a good thing. And… oh, Mom, she can cook – really, really well, and I can’t wait until the two of you get your heads together on cake.” I grin appreciatively. I haven’t forgotten how Kathryn loved the marble cake I baked for her, true to a promise I made what seems ages ago now – our second day together, was it? 

“The crew has taken to her quite quickly – I’d been so afraid of how that would work out, and in the beginning, there was some… grating, but… well, on the one hand, she’s a social worker, she knows how to do this, and on the other…” Kathryn on the screen drops her head to her cup, and when her eyes come up again, they’re suspiciously shiny. “I guess people have been… if not waiting for it, then at least happy that I’ve found someone. You wouldn’t believe… _I_ didn’t believe how many people are telling me, how many are smiling at me, at us.” 

She shakes her head, holds it aside for a second, return her gaze to the camera and smiles shakily. “If I’d known… I was so worried how this would affect things; I never knew I didn’t have to. Mom, you know I’ve said they’re more than crew, and I’ve never felt that more than now.” Her smile steadies, grows fiercely proud, falters once more. “I’ll never let them down. And you know… Marie understands, Mom, she understands how I feel about this. 

“I’ve… whenever I thought about a relationship, I’ve worried that I couldn’t do both my crew and my partner justice. And I’d never… well. You know.” She waves a hand, and I remember her telling me her father had been in Starfleet, too. It makes me wonder if her mother had ever been with him on a starship, if Kathryn, as a child, had ever been with him. Did they allow family on starships, in Starfleet? Hadn’t I read something…? I quickly concentrate on the message though; I can ask another time. 

“We’ve had a few… situations, and Marie’s been so… Mom, she’s good at this. Conscious, and considerate of people’s emotions and roles. Well, I guess it’s what she’s learned, isn’t it. And I know it’ll take a while for people to start seeing her as a professional counselor, but Chakotay’s found her an office and… we’ll see, won’t we? I can certainly say that having a professional counselor aboard has done wonders for _my_ mental well-being, at least.” She smiles, ironically at first, but then it turns into one of her rare, full-blown, beatifically happy smiles. “I guess you’ll be happy to hear that I’m happy, Mom. Next time I call you, I’ll have her at my side so you’ll meet her. I’m looking forward to it. Wish me luck, Mom.” And with a wave at the camera, she closes the message. 

“And you sent this two days ago…”

“-in the exact data stream that contained your message”, she completes my sentence. “And now she’s answered.”

“With both our names on the file,” I sigh, recalling how it had come to the two of us sitting here. I’d tried to find a way to tell Kathryn that I’d contacted her mother, really, I had, but… two days! Such a short time, for such a big elephant. On the other hand… it’s a message, from Kathryn’s mother, to both of us, and I burn with curiosity. “Well, let’s have it, then.” I wriggle excitedly, and she laughs and kisses my cheek.

The face that appears on the screen when Kathryn pulls the message up does bear a remarkable resemblance, not only in how it looks, but also in how it moves. The hair, for starters – that widow’s peak is Kathryn’s, even if the color isn’t; and if Kathryn greys as gracefully as her mother has, I’ll envy her till the end of my days. 

“Kathryn! My dear Kathryn, oh, how I loved to hear from you, and how I loved what you told me!” Exuberance – far more of it than I’ve ever seen in Kathryn’s face. It has me smile along. “And Marie – nice to meet you, even if this is a bit awkward, and I agree, I can’t wait to meet you in person. You don’t mind if I call you Marie, do you?” Heavens, I wouldn’t mind if she called me George. “You know,” Kathryn’s mother goes on, “your messages were so similar, too – I just watched both of them a second time, and you both mentioned similar things, and almost in the same order, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you _had_ scripted this, after all. And I loved how both of you said you’re happy; after all, that’s what a mother wants to hear, isn’t it? And to hear that you’re both working on making this a good thing, both for yourselves and your crew, is making this admiral’s wife very happy, indeed.

“Kathryn, I don’t know if you ever realized, but having someone to come home to has always been incredibly important to your father.” Kathryn’s mother’s face is full of love, and her daughter’s eyes brim with tears when I sneak a look at her. “And I’d simply have loved to be with him, sharing his adventures, facing the dangers with him, and the good times, too. Even though he said it was better for him to know I was safely home; but _he_ wasn’t, so why would I need to be? Then, when you came along, and later your sister, he pushed so hard for a job at HQ to be home more. And then he pushed some more, for the Galaxy class, to let other officers have their families with them the way he couldn’t… I do know you know how proud he was when you followed in his footsteps, but we both were well aware of how difficult it is to find personal happiness on a starship. 

“And then you…” Vanished. Gretchen Janeway doesn’t say it; she doesn’t have to. Her eyes look haunted enough, and I remember it took years, five years, for Voyager’s first message to reach home. Five years. A year longer than my grandfather’s captivity; and my grandmother hadn’t known whether he’d been alive, either. I have no idea how anyone can bear something like this. I hold Kathryn tightly; her eyes are shiny yet again, or maybe still.

“Anyway,” Kathryn’s mother goes on, shaking herself out of it, “it’s wonderful to hear that you’ve found someone to share things with, the good things and the bad. And from what you both said, I’m sure sharing is the right word, too – a social worker, Kathryn, for heaven’s sake!” She laughs, again more readily that Kathryn would, and again, I join her. “Although I have to say, entering a relationship with one just to end all further possibilities of counseling does seem a bit over the top, Katie dear.” Kathryn groans at the pet name, and I grin, filing it away. I can’t wait to discover more of them – I’m sure Phoebe has a wealth of them, as little sisters will. “Marie,” Mrs. Janeway goes on quickly, “no offense intended – I’m sure by now you know how much Kathryn likes counselors, and – well, you’re still around, aren’t you, so you’re probably just as stubborn as my daughter is.” Her smile, though still loving, gains a wicked gleam. “And a good thing, too. 

“So you cook, then, hm? And bake, as well. That does sound good. And if my daughter notices, you must be good at it.” I chortle, and receive another swat. At the start, Kathryn tended to ignore what I set in front of her – oh, but she quickly learned the folly of that. It’s become something of a contest, by now – sometimes I’ll try something new, just to see her face when she notices, sometimes I attempt to match whatever I’m fixing to the mood she’s in when she comes home. And sometimes I go wild in Neelix’ kitchen. Sometimes the Talaxian even helps, and we churn out evil concoctions for all comers, not that they complain within earshot. “I’m looking forward to exchanging a few recipes, if you’d like,” Kathryn’s mother goes on, “I’ve attached a few – not those horrible replicator formulas, but real recipes with real ingredients and real instructions.”

Kathryn’s mouth drops open. 

“Computer, stop playback.” I turn to her. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” I ask her, and she shakes her head. 

Then she grins, a lightning-quick ray of light across her face, and kisses my cheek. “I just thought about how Mom never offered to exchange recipes with anyone else before, but then I realized, well, Marc and Justin never cooked, did they?” The lightness with which she says this makes it easy to join her smile. Then we return our attention to the white-haired woman on the screen. “Computer, resume.”

“Kathryn, you do realize that you’ll have to tell Phoebe soon – she suspected already, after I received your twin messages. I’m afraid I wore a quite, quite silly smile all afternoon, and she pestered me something horrible until I employed the – what did Owen’s boy use to call it? – Death Glare?” I whoop with laughter. We both do, although for different reasons, quite probably. “Well, I tried, anyway,” Gretchen Janeway goes on, “to mixed success. She looked affronted, then she shook with laughter, then she mused about trying it on her kids, and _then_ she looked at me sternly and said if I didn’t tell her soon, she’d set her husband on to me.”

“Is he a spy or something?” I ask Kathryn.

“Worse. Betazoid,” she whispers. “Hush, now.” Betazoid. Hm. I’ll have to read up on that. 

“They’re all well, by the way, Ennin had a terrible cold a few days ago, but he’s better now, and already begging to be let out of the house again. The garden is indeed coming along nicely, we’re all covered in tulips around now, it’s beautiful. I wish you could…” her eyes are wistful for a moment, then she drops her gaze. “I’m sorry, Kathryn, my dear. I’ll attach a picture, nevertheless, even if you’ve said you don’t want to look at them. Still, I know how much you love spring and early summer at your old place. And everything I see, I see for you, my sweetheart. Every new flower, every returning bird. There are swans nesting along Flinger Pond, you know. Of course the children are dying to go see them, much as we’ve told them the marshes are out of bounds, but when has that ever done any good, I ask you.” That sparkle in Gretchen Janeway’s eye is Kathryn’s, too, even though her smile is much more pronounced than Kathryn’s reserved ones. It’s interesting to watch, actually. I’d guess Kathryn didn’t see much of her father, growing up, so her mannerisms aren’t his, even if they aren’t quite her mother’s, either. I wonder if Kathryn used to smile and laugh as readily as her mother, before she became involved with Starfleet. Or before her father and her fiancé died?

“Thanks for that statement of your Doctor’s, by the way – what a tangle that must have been! I’m glad you were able to solve it, but I can’t help thinking how it must have distracted you from the really important parts of a captain’s job, like welcoming newcomers aboard ship,” oh, her smile is _wicked_. I definitely like her sense of humor. “But you haven’t told me yet just how Marie came aboard, and you two do realize that all those hints about it sounding crazy and being too complicated just fired my curiosity up to there, don’t you?” She laughs again, her eyes very, very fond. “Then again, I guess it doesn’t really matter, as long as you’ve found one another. Oh, Kathryn – absurdly happy? I like the sound of that. Hold on to it; hold on to Marie, if she makes you feel this way. And Marie – don’t stop. I like my daughter absurdly happy. I do expect the next message to feature the both of you, and at least one kiss – stop glaring, daughter mine.” I laugh out loud, because Gretchen Janeway clearly is clairvoyant. “Mom likes to see daughter absurdly happy, period. Mom likes to be happy, too, and you made me, the two of you. Take good care of yourselves, and each other, out there.” And the message winks out.


	2. Report (April 18th)

“Come in,” Kathryn calls out, then looks up from her PADD, smiling at Chakotay and Seven. “So, crew reports, then. Why don’t you sit down, Commander, Seven – anything I can get you?” She steps towards the replicator to order coffee for herself, then pulls up herbal tea #4 for Chakotay when he asks for it. Seven, as usual, doesn’t take anything, but she does sit down as asked. Joining them on the sofa, Kathryn takes a sip while perusing the first PADD they brought. “Impressive.”

“I thought so, too.” Chakotay smiles. “The incident with our Doc stealing our warp core rattled everyone; Tuvok and B’Elanna didn’t even need to schedule additional trainings and shifts for their officers – people volunteered. And B’Elanna took the opportunity to gang up with Seven, too, and overhaul a few systems, raising overall energy efficiency by another 1.7 percent.”

“We were aiming for 2 percent,” Seven adds, her voice slightly clipped. By now, Kathryn knows that tone to be disappointment, but, good grief – 1.7 percent above last month’s status quo is still far more than _Voyager_ ever started out with. “Lieutenant Torres tried what she called a ‘motivation booster’ of promising larger replicator rations,” Seven arches a brow, “if the increase of efficiency would reach that level, but unfortunately the hybridization of Federation and Borg technology does have its limits.”

“Still,” Kathryn smiles, “good work all around.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Seven bows her head, “I will convey your praise to everyone who participated.”

“Ops, next?” Chakotay suggests and Kathryn nods. “Harry is doing a terrific job. He’s coaching a group of ensigns and crewmen, having them join him when he takes gamma shift and rotating manning ops. His report is full of praises, especially for Culhane and Tassoni.”

“He lets Tassoni man ops?” Kathryn asks quickly, nearly choking on her mouthful of coffee. The _Equinox_ crewmembers have worked hard to redeem themselves, but still…

“Not on his own. Tassoni understands that he is to double-check everything with either Harry or whoever is supervising him at the time; Crewman Dorado especially has a good influence on him.” 

“And Harry picked up on that?” Impressive, indeed. _Harry would have made lieutenant years ago, if things weren’t as they are_ , Kathryn thinks, sipping at her coffee, _and with initiative like this, he’d be well on his way to his third pip, too_. Such a damn shame. But – no time for heavy hearts; Harry knows how highly she thinks of him. _Close that door and sail on, Janeway_. “How’s our status regarding supplies and storage?”

“Inorganic components, both refined and raw, are sufficiently available, Captain,” Seven answers immediately, then turns towards Chakotay, deferring to him for the next bit, obviously. 

“Things have dipped a bit when Neelix left,” the commander takes over. “The kitchen crew had some difficulties figuring out how and where he stored things, you see. But they’re getting there; in fact, it seems that Miss Will is quite the storage genius. They’ve come up with a new system between them, and even if organizing things took them two full shifts during which everyone had to use the replicators-”

“So _that’s_ what that was about!” Kathryn interrupts him. She remembers that particular lunch break well. And Ellie had been…? Well, she had asked to be assigned tasks, hadn’t she, and Kathryn knows how good she is in the kitchen. Apparently not just with cooking, either. “Sorry for interrupting, Commander.”

“No problem, Captain. Anyway, it seems that supplies are organized in a pretty intuitive system now, which it has to be, seeing how many people use it.” At Kathryn’s look of surprise, he nods. “So far, fifteen crewmembers have volunteered to join the kitchen crew. They’ve even set up a duty roster. Chell seems to be in charge of that and doing a good job of it, too. At far as I can see, no one compromises their other duties to cook for us.”

“That’s a good start,” Kathryn smiles, “but, Commander, if we do find a chef whose cooking is palatable to the majority, we shouldn’t let their crew duties stand in the way of that.”

“I hear you,” he grins, raising his cup. “Other than that, I’ve had a few requests for changes of quarters – we’ve had three more crew move in with their respective partners since the last report.” His grin widens when she shoots him a very level look for his hamming. Kathryn is quite sure he’s thinking along the same lines than she is, too – _if the captain can have a relationship_ … she hides a smile of her own at the look he casts towards Seven, and at how her own thoughts suddenly start in a completely new, fascinating direction. _Stop it, Janeway, you don’t know if that’s really real._

“It will be… interesting to see if and how interpersonal relationships will influence overall efficiency,” Seven volunteers, then arches her implant when both Chakotay and Kathryn look at her. “I must confess that the psychological aspects of the situation are confusing, but Counselor Vey has given me valuable input on the matter, and I look forward to doing further research.”

At this, Captain and Commander exchange a Look. 

Chakotay finally catches himself enough to say, “Uh… yes, certainly, Seven,” looking nervous as – what had been that expression of Boothby’s? – a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Kathryn decides to use the opportunity to change to another topic, partly to save him, partly because it’s sparked her interest. “Speaking of our counselor, Chakotay – I can’t help but feel curious that your report doesn’t list anything about her work?”

“Well, Captain, as we’ve anticipated, the crew isn’t exactly queuing at her door as yet. They still need time to get used to the idea of having professional counseling available to them, although the Doc’s helping. He openly suggests to ‘go see the counselor’ whenever it’s appropriate, or orders it when necessary – only two times so far,” he’s quick to alleviate Kathryn’s immediate worry. “So, on the one hand, Counselor Vey doesn’t have many patients yet; on the other, the incidents that have needed her attention aren’t severe enough to merit bringing to the captain’s desk. She, the Doc and I meet regularly to keep an eye on things, and so far, in the two meetings we’ve had, I’ve agreed with every one of her decisions, same as the Doc.”

“I see.” It’s good to hear how good a job Marie’s doing. Kathryn smiles again, pleased at how… professional this bit of crew reviews has gone over, too. Then again, why wouldn’t it? 

“She’s pulling half-shifts with some of the Engineering staff, too, you know,” Chakotay offers.

“Oh? I guess I should be watching my own hours – I hadn’t even noticed she’d been gone for more than one shift. But why Engineering?”

“Counselor Vey has expressed interest in how the ship works,” Seven answers, “to ‘alleviate misgivings about the technology we all trust our lives to, and to satiate a frankly immense curiosity’”. Her inflection leaves absolutely no doubt that that was a verbatim quote, and Kathryn has to suppress another smile. Apart from her facial expressions, that was quite an adept imitation Seven pulled off. Then the Ex-Borg goes on, “Lieutenants Torres and Nicoletti, and myself, have found her lacking in basic technological knowledge, but the counselor is applying herself to remedy that.” 

“She’s not keeping you from work, though, is she?” Chakotay asks with a quick look at Kathryn, who feels like hugging him. It’s what she wants to know, after all, but hadn’t figured how to ask innocently.

“Of course not. In fact, it was the first concern she expressed. We have configured her learning schedule so as not to interfere with Engineering procedures.”

“Of course,” Chakotay replies, grinning again and draining his tea. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” Then his eyes return to his PADD. “Our other new crewmember is settling in quite well, too – apart from her work in the kitchen, Miss Will is being trained by the Doc and Tom to take over duties in sickbay, too, to promising results so far, from what I’ve been told. Very smooth sailing all around, I have to say,” he concludes his report, and Seven, head tilted at the metaphor, nods, nevertheless. 

“I concur, Captain.”

Kathryn smiles at both of them. “Well, I certainly couldn’t agree more. Thank you, both of you.” 

“Um, Captain.” Chakotay takes a deep breath and looks at Seven, who displays nothing but attentive interest. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Yes, Commander?” _Now what?_

“What you said, just now, about watching your hours…” Chakotay tugs at his earlobe, the usual sign he’s feeling slightly uncomfortable, and casts another glance at the Ex-Borg, “well, I… agree. No offense intended, Captain, but you do look into a lot of things that don’t really need the captain’s attention.”

Kathryn is dumbfounded for a moment, takes a sip from her cup and grimaces as the horrid taste of coffee gone cold hits her lips. “That never came up before, Chakotay.”

“Well, no, but you never…” he breaks away, but it’s clear what he meant, anyway, isn’t it? Seven looks on, implant arched. _Researching, probably._

“Are you accusing me of micro-managing things?” He wouldn’t be the first, but she won’t tell him that. It’s always been her style to follow things closely. The scientist in her can’t stop being curious; the captain can’t stop thinking about all the things that keep a starship running smoothly, from supplies to engine efficiency to crew morale. 

“Not exactly, but I’d suggest sharing a few tasks with someone else, someone who’s proven he’s up to the job in question.”

“And who would that be? Yourself?” she asks, eyebrows arched. _Delegation. Well, yes, certainly, but I can’t delegate to_ him, _not when he and Seven… was that the reason why he looked at her just now?_

“Harry Kim,” he replies instantly. “I know he’s only an ensign, but-”

“You know, Commander,” Kathryn interrupts him, instantly approving. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time. I was going to suggest command track to him, in fact; ask him to apply for the Academy’s distance learning courses, but… yes,” she breathes, nodding slowly, “yes, that is a good idea. I don’t know when he’ll ever have a use for it, but yes. I’ll ask him. Thanks, Chakotay. You do realize it will mean more work, at first, don’t you?”

“I’m sure Marie won’t mind.” Oh, the cheek, complete with dimples. _No second cup of tea for you, Mister._

Pausing to give either of them the opportunity for a last comment, she nods when none is forthcoming. “Dismissed, then.”

Has Chakotay always had his hand hovering at the small of Seven’s back like this before? Kathryn knows the gesture, has sensed his hand herself when he invariably insisted she precede him, but with Seven? Well, well. This time, she doesn’t have to stop her grin.


	3. Rambling (April 21st)

Waking up alongside someone has always been a good feeling. Waking up next to someone and having it feel so warmly familiar is bliss, even more so when Kathryn remembers how Marc used to snore, or how Justin used to crowd her. Not that she didn’t love waking up next to either of them, but… well, Marie does neither – the only thing Kathryn could complain about is how lightly the younger woman sleeps, but when she is asleep, Marie is remarkably well-behaved. Amazing, too, how quickly ‘my quarters’ have become ‘our quarters’ have become ‘home’, and how soft that thought feels. Home had, up to now, been a rambling, centuries-old house outside Bloomington, Indiana, and in a way it always will be. But now, when Kathryn says ‘home’, she means these rooms she’s just leaving, more than she ever did. 

Walking into her ready room after listening to Harry’s report about an uneventful gamma shift, Kathryn smiles at how nervous the ensign had been at being invited into the captain’s quarters. In the end, it had been an amazing evening. Marie had been stunned by the gesture, and it had made Harry even more flustered to see her get up to kiss the captain. He’d pulled himself together quickly – oh, he’s grown up, Harry Kim has, has even been confident enough not to ask ‘why me?’ Yes, Chakotay had had the right idea. And with twenty-odd more years of journey, a back-up CO who’s not a hologram certainly is a good idea.

After dinner, Kathryn and Harry had started to figure out what she can delegate to him. She wants this to be a gentle transition – for her benefit as well as his, as Marie had commented dryly – so there are a few things she still needs to go over after he’s through, but, all told, Kathryn has no doubt that Harry Kim will be up to his new set of tasks. He’s come up with a PADDful of more ideas overnight, as she’d had no doubt he would, and she replies to them with a message to go over them during lunch. Even if it means she’s asking him to put off going to bed (lunch break would usually mean the end of his shift after gamma and half of alpha; everyone needs sleep, after all), it’ll have the additional benefit that the crew will see the two of them putting their heads together – something they’ll have to get used to as it is. 

Add a newcomer, change roles, and things get shaken up – wasn’t that what Marie had said, back then? On the other hand, being shaken up doesn’t necessarily mean a change to the worse. In fact, Kathryn has to agree with her first officer’s assessment; things _are_ running very well. Even the Doctor is slowly getting back to normal. The only thing really dampening the spirits has been parting ways with Neelix, even if everyone had been wishing him well. Quite a lot of people still are in contact with him, to tell the truth. Kathryn knows for a fact that the Kitchen Crew (a name that cries out for capital letters, somehow) calls him a lot, trying to figure out how Neelix has rigged this or that thing in the galley, after B’Elanna had threatened to airlock anyone who ever asked _her_ again. Naomi talks to Neelix every evening, and Seven – Seven! – plays kadis-kot with him via subspace. 

Kathryn turns those rambling thoughts aside with Harry’s PADD, though, and concentrates, for the rest of her morning, on finding a way to make the Doctor’s programming even more tamper-proof. Human dignity is inviolable – Marie’s words had stuck in the Doctor’s mind, it seemed. How about holographic dignity, he’d asked. And how can his captain deny him, seeing all he’s done, all he’s learned, all he’s become? No, no one but himself should have the right to decide whether or what to change about his programming. 

Kathryn calls Tuvok in for an opinion on how Starfleet JAG or a civilian court might see the issue – ever since he acted as advocate to Quinn, he’d been interested in legal proceedings, and has taken to them, Vulcan that he is, like a duck to water. Apparently, he had anticipated the issue. His preliminary notes land on Kathryn’s desk within the hour, and they agree to meet with the Doctor after lunch to decide whether Tuvok will need to do further research over the next Pathfinder message stream. Lunch with Harry goes over as planned, an hour later Tuvok heads off with a list of the Doctor’s questions, and the afternoon finds Kathryn in the holographic lab with the Doctor, Tom and B’Elanna, experimenting, extrapolating, and implementing their theories within the parameters of Tuvok findings. A good day’s work, all in all, and just one single report, on a sensory malfunction in the rear array, to take home.

Changing after coming home is slowly getting familiar, too. Civvies on the sofa – another thing Marie had insisted on. For years, Kathryn had slipped out of her boots as soon as the doors closed behind her, sometimes out of her uniform jacket, too. It’s just another small step more, really. And Marie’s smile at seeing Kathryn’s choice of clothes is something Kathryn aims for, just as she aims to be home in time for dinner. They even entertain guests, sometimes – Harry hadn’t been the first, not by far – something Kathryn hasn’t really felt at ease with before, considering how her bad luck with the replicator is practically proverbial by now. No matter how good a hostess she is otherwise, it’s what sticks in people’s minds, but Marie hadn’t been lying to Kathryn’s mother about getting good with the replicator, and her reputation has spread by now, even though the teasing hasn’t stopped. 

Tonight is wholly theirs, though – Marie has worked out, Kathryn knows by how her lover smells of soap and shampoo when she sits down next to her. With a contented sigh, she flops down, head in Marie’s lap. Most of their quiet evenings find them right here, with a PADD or a book, a cup of something steaming or a glass of wine – not the Italian they brought; those crates are safely in storage – and soft music. By now, they both can listen to the songs without flinching or grimacing anymore; and when, a couple of weeks ago, Marie had softly started singing along to one of her favorites, Kathryn had felt flooded with relief. Marie has chosen classical music, tonight, something of Dvorak’s, Kathryn guesses – the younger woman’s taste tends to the more lyrical, less harsh pieces, though she has taken to Mahler after a bit of nudging. It’s interesting to dwell on the ways in which they differ and in which they are alike, but – _no, Janeway, get your mind back on that report._

Once she’s signed it off, though, nothing stops her thoughts from turning back to how good it feels to lie like this, to feel, against her cheek and with a curling of lips, how Marie’s breathing unconsciously matches the music’s movements, however concentrated on her own PADD the younger woman might be. Singing even when she’s not singing, Kathryn has no doubt, and sneaks a look at the underside of her lover’s breasts right before a particularly emotive bit – thank _you_. Her lips turn up a bit more. Truth to tell, sometimes the two of them end up horizontal somewhere else, and somehow, the motions of Marie’s diaphragm and her fingers, tapping in time, tickle Kathryn’s mind with possibilities, but… no, not right now. Later, maybe. Oh, the luxury of that thought. 

Whatever might be on Marie’s PADD, anyway, that has her so oblivious? She’s still reading up on anything from top to bottom and left to right, Kathryn knows that much. Only a week ago, she’d asked Kathryn about the Hirogen, explaining that Chakotay had given her access to the unclassified parts of the mission logs, looking so sick at the thought of the aliens posing as Nazi officers that Kathryn had put her PADD aside for the rest of the evening to answer her questions, not that she’d been able to explain a lot of the actual program. Marie’s questions are unexpected, sometimes – she’s not a Starfleet officer, that’s plain. Academy thinking is recognizable, but Marie’s thinking goes loopy ways, sometimes, and concentrates on quite different things. Interesting, though, to follow her questions and see what she makes of Kathryn’s answers.

As intent as they both are about working, though, an agreement not to work in bed had been reached very, very quickly, nevertheless. Kathryn’s initial opposition had been largely perfunctory, anyway; born more out of how used she was to it than anything else. It is a good idea, after all, and not just because it helps tell the roles apart. No, the bedroom… Kathryn smiles a secret smile. Who would have thought… well, Phoebe had told her how different it was, but still. God, but Marie is… playful. Inventive. And Kathryn initiates matters just as often as her lover does. No, with the two of them in bed, there is definitely no space left for PADDs, not on the mattress nor in their heads.

And out of their quarters – _why am I so surprised about how smoothly it’s going? Both of us are at home with playing roles, after all. Consciously playing roles_ , Kathryn corrects herself. The hardest part has been – and of course Marie had teased her mercilessly about it – to deliberately let go of the captain’s mask, from time to time. Civvies off-shift, outside their quarters just as well as inside, had been one step. Socializing, another – karaoke in Sandrine’s, for crying out loud. Kathryn would have never thought she’d see the day. The place had been packed, too, the two notable absences being the first officer and the head of Astrometrics. Well, Seven didn’t socialize much, as a rule, and Chakotay, while at ease with gatherings, wasn’t at home with music, for whatever reason. Still – Kathryn’s thoughts turn, much of their own volition, to a place they’d been going three days ago, too.

There’d been chemistry between the two of them, hadn’t there? Since that incident on Ledos, or since before that? Well, maybe it’s been a catalyst, getting stranded together like that. And catalysts are useful things in chemistry, aren’t they? A corner of Kathryn’s mouth twitches. If that’s what has helped him get over his jealousy, it’s completely fine by her – she certainly couldn’t wish for a better, gentler, more patient man for Seven. And to see the Ex-Borg take flight like this – Kathryn couldn’t feel prouder if Seven was her own daughter. 

There’d been chemistry between Seven and her, too, hadn’t there? Just as, in the beginning, there’d been sparks between the captain and her chief engineer – and not sparks of fury, or at least, not _just_ of fury. There’d been, still is, a certain mothering aspect to her interactions with both of them, surely, but there’d been more than that, too, something deeper. Looking back on certain memories, Kathryn wonders about that now. Seems that, at least subconsciously, there’s always been a part of her that’s been attracted to – what? The Female Principle? Younger women? She barely suppresses a soft snort. Even though Marie is nine years her junior, and barely older than both B’Elanna and Seven (what’s another three or four years, anyway?), mothering certainly never was an aspect in _their_ relationship, if only because Marie herself is so infuriatingly good at it. And Kathryn can hardly berate Marie for something if then she proceeds to do the same, can she?

Mothering… does Marie want children? B’Elanna’s pregnancy is progressing quite according to plan, and the half-Klingon is… well, sometimes she glows, sometimes she glowers, but somehow she’s much more herself than she ever was, transcending things in a way that is nothing short of mesmerizing to Kathryn, now that the thought, the possibility of maybe, maybe going the same way, one day, has entered her mind. Marie was incredibly good with that kid in Italy. She’s good with Naomi, and she’s good with Icheb, and Seven, too, even if those two are officially of age. 

Kathryn’s caught the two of them, Seven and Marie, one evening after shift, right here in these quarters, talking about all the world and his brother, as it seemed. Seven had been almost relaxed – sitting very primly, certainly, but still quite at ease, and Marie? Marie had been laughing so freely when Kathryn had come in that seeing who she’d been laughing with had almost stopped the captain short. No, those two had found their way. Openness, Marie had told her after Seven had left, confirming what Seven had said in Kathryn’s ready room the other day. Kathryn had felt incredibly curious as well, wondering just what Seven might be curious about, but she hadn’t asked. She was quite certain she wouldn’t have gotten answers, anyway. 

Counselor’s confidentiality, of course, and that works surprisingly well, too. Chakotay’s report had listed fifteen appointments and two unscheduled counseling sessions, but didn’t go into details about a single one of them. Just as he’d said – nothing to bother the captain with. And while neither he nor Marie had said anything about it, Kathryn strongly suspects Marie has fielded some attempts to gain the captain’s ear through her lover – there are always the usual suspects, after all, and while their efforts had died down when Chakotay had made it clear, years ago, that the captain’s ear was hers alone, some people simply would try again when they perceived another opening. They’d revived their attempts after New Earth, they’d tried – very briefly – to go through Seven. Somehow Kathryn is quite certain they’ve raised their heads again. Marie has never mentioned anything, but… 

“Ship’s business or personal business?” Marie asks softly, from above, through the sound of a woodwind – oboe, maybe? Harry would know.

“Hm?”

“You stopped scrolling through that report more than twenty minutes ago, Katie dear, and though you might not know it, your face is an open book to me by now. I’m just wondering what has you sighing like that.” Marie’s grin is very, very innocent, but Kathryn carefully files the ‘Katie dear’ away for later.

“A bit of both, you know.” Still, Kathryn sets the PADD aside and stretches languidly, hiding a smile at how unabashedly Marie doesn’t hide hers. Being physically appreciated like this is… good. It’s true, Kathryn had stopped scrolling, but she had been through with the report, and holding the PADD had been… reflex, more than anything. “So you can read my face, can you? And here I thought you were reading the really important things.”

Marie scoffs, tossing her own PADD aside with a grand gesture that suffers a bit when the PADD skids too far and ends up on the floor. She grimaces, then shrugs, and her eyes, when they return to Kathryn’s face, are full of love. “You have no idea just how important…” she touches Kathryn’s cheek with a finger. When she goes on, though, her voice is back to teasing, complete with knowing smirk. “You see, the Doctor could never have gotten past me, I know that much.”

The memory still sits sourly with Kathryn, even if Marie’s said there were no ill feelings from her part. It had been for the best that he hadn’t met Marie, certainly, but seeing the Doctor send her a texted message, its shortness bordering on insulting, to go through the personnel files – _all_ of them – just to keep her away from him… “Good thing he didn’t have to, then.” Kathryn pushes Marie’s glasses up her nose. She likes the gesture, which is why she’s stolen it from Ellie. “I’d have hated him sedating you and beaming you to the morgue.”

“What about him kissing me?” 

“Who told you about _that_?” Kathryn had seen the video feed of how the Doctor, disguised as B’Elanna, had been kissed by Tom. Her reaction had hovered between mortification and completely inappropriate amusement. But she hadn’t put it in any log; in fact, she’d been very meticulous about composing her report, up to and including, for the first time, going through the drafted version with the Doctor, just to make sure about his feelings. Even if she’d used the pretense of just being concerned about getting the details right.

“Tom and B’Elanna,” Marie shrugs. “The Doctor apologized to Tom, and Tom was, by that time, laughing about it; I think they’re okay. Most days, anyway – I think B’Elanna has added it to the list of things she hits Tom over the head with it when Miral is making her peckish.”

“She would.” Kathryn smiles.

Marie joins her. “She’s grand, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. I don’t know how she does it; Sam Wildman was that way, too – being pregnant is no picnic, and being pregnant on duty probably doubly so, but they…” Kathryn snaps her fingers. “They impress the hell out of me, to tell you the truth. Not just being pregnant. Raising a kid? Alone? Sam’s doing a terrific job, I think.”

“Everyone is. Sam’s not raising Naomi quite on her own, not as such, but I do agree – she’s bearing the brunt of it, and she is doing a terrific job.” Marie thinks for a moment, eyes far away. “And I’m sure Tom and B’Elanna will, too.” The music ends, quite grandly so, and for a while afterwards, their quart- _home_ is quiet.

“I’m just glad I have the blanket done, I do know that,” Kathryn goes on with a quirk of her lips. “Horrible as those weeks after the Darkness Singers attack have been, they gave me time to finish it.”

“A blanket?” Marie sounds puzzled, but that’s light years better than flinching with remembered fear. And while she does have some nightmares still, they’re getting less and less frequent, and good riddance, too.

“I did one for Naomi; I had to do one for Miral, too.” Seeing that her words haven’t really answered Marie’s question, Kathryn sighs and gets up. When she returns from the bedroom, the neatly folded square in her hands, Marie’s eyes grow wide.

“You knit.”

“ _You_ keep telling me to do things for fun.” 

“Yeah, but – you _knit_.” Marie’s face splits into a delighted grin. “Let me see?”

Kathryn shakes the blanket out and reaches it over, sitting down next to Marie. “The white and grey is undyed wool, and the red – well, you can’t have a quarter-Klingon baby and not have red in the blanket, can you?”

“It’s incredibly soft,” Marie breathes, running her hands over it. “And the red is Tom’s uniform’s color, and you put in golden for B’Elanna’s, too. They’ll love it.”

“That’s what I was thinking. And big color blocks, because they’re better for babies than tiny intricate patterns, you know.” 

“I’ll take your word for it. And you knit this? All of this? It must have taken… wow.” Then the look in Marie’s eyes changes from reverential to impish. “You must have had a lot of time on your hands, Captain Coffee Bean.”

“Careful, Counselor Chocolate Spread.”

Marie throws her head back and whoops. “I hadn’t heard that one!”

“You’ve heard others?” Kathryn is intrigued.

“Well, Smarty’s made the rounds.” The younger woman sighs resignedly. “It’s strange, you know? I’ve always been, but I can’t really claim it any longer, can I.”

Head still tilted, Kathryn frowns. “Why not?” 

“Well, such a lot of things I know are obsolete now, aren’t they? Recognizing a car by sound; _driving_ one, whatever Tom says. Knowing how a Euro translates into Dollars. Hell, knowing how to _type_! It just accumulates, you know?” Marie sighs again. “Those things we spoke about in Italy, remember? Being good with maps – who needs it here? Being good with languages, ditto.”

“Being good with kids is universal, though.” Oh, Kathryn remembers indeed. “And a social worker is never really out of a job, is she?” They share a smile, remembering that stupid joke, then Kathryn grows serious again. “Both you and Ellie have found your places so quickly, and good places, too… but that’s not it, is it?”

Marie throws her a smile, and starts re-folding the blanket. “No, Captain Counselor, it’s not.” She stops, blanket over one arm, the other folded across it. “Transition, I guess. Letting go of my former life means letting go of the things that went with it. And while I do appreciate all the things I’m learning, all the things I’m able to do here, I… I miss things. People. Of course I do.” Putting the blanket aside, Marie turns to face Kathryn fully. “Still.” Her smile starts out small, but then it turns into… that Look that gives Kathryn weak knees, every time. It beams, that smile. It shines, and radiates, and doesn’t hide a thing. “I’m glad to be here with you.” Then the smile changes again. “For _so_ many reasons.” Marie ducks Kathryn’s half-hearted swat, and pulls her close instead. “Honestly, I am.” Her kiss supports the claim. Loving, and tender, and with another smile in there somewhere. 

Kathryn’s reply, when they break apart, squeezes through a throat that’s almost closed. _Will I ever get used to this?_ “You’re… quite something, Marie.” _Do I want to?_

“I thought I was impossible?” The younger woman flops down, head in Kathryn’s lap, legs dangling over the sofa’s edge.

“Scientific evidence suggests otherwise.” Thoughts of love are still quite prominent in her mind, but Kathryn’s tone is wry, seeing her lover slouch like this. 

“It told you that I’m not impossible, but ‘something’?” Marie grins. “I guess you’ll have to do further research, Captain Kathryn. I’m definitely more than ‘something’.”

“And just exactly what are you, then?” 

Marie catches the change in Kathryn’s tone at once. Her playful smile turns into one full of something else. This is one thing Kathryn loves about her – from light to deep in a heartbeat, and just as quickly back again, and most of the time it’s fun to let herself be pulled along. 

“I am… oh.” Her smile deepens to one of her irreverent grins. “ _Such_ a lot of things. Now, saying ‘I’m in love with you’ would be cheating, since you know that already. I consider myself… an optimist, and a realist. And no, those two aren’t mutually exclusive.” A sparkle flashes through her eyes, then her face softens again. “In much the same way, I… endeavor to be honest, and yet I’m much more the politician than the knight-”

“No way,” Kathryn laughs.

“But I am,” The younger woman insists, smile gone. “I’d rather be a willow than an oak, you see? I bend, and then I snap back, defying the storm that’s tried to break me.” She rolls her eyes at her own hamming. “Honestly, in my line of work, you have to.”

“What did you do, exactly?”

Marie laughs. “Captain!” So very scandalized. “Don’t tell me you didn’t read my CV before agreeing I could work as _Voyager’s_ counselor?”

“That’s what I have an XO for, you know,” Kathryn tries for miffed, but her curiosity is spiked. A CV? “Can’t you just give me the abbreviated version?”

The laughter dies. Marie suddenly looks much, much older. “No,” she says softly. “Not to you.”

“What happened, Marie?” Gentle enough to match Marie’s tone, open enough to convey her interest.

Marie takes a deep breath. Her eyes leave Kathryn; focus on something a universe away. “I worked with… no. I guess I should start earlier, right?” A quick smile. “I grew up in a small village. Not on a farm, but surrounded by them. I can even milk a cow, you know.”

Up go the eyebrows. “Good God.” 

“I say,” Marie joins Kathryn’s grin, then grows serious again. “Well, you already figured that I was good in school, so suffice it to say I enjoyed it much more than my time at home. Learning, engaging my mind, being with friends… I learned to row there, and to sing, too, you know. A lot of extracurricular activities – I tried to spend as much time away from home as possible, I guess.”

“That’s when you became estranged from your parents, right?”

A silent sigh. “Yes. And as I said then, it wasn’t even over whom I fell in love with, even though that coincided quite nicely. No, rather… they didn’t understand such a lot about me, and I found understanding elsewhere, with friends, and books,” another lightning-quick smile, “and so I stopped trying to make them. Those books you read to me – I discovered them around that time, and they did so much for me…” her voice drops away. Kathryn nods, immediately. She’d figured _that_ out, alright. “I’ve always been like that, you know,” Marie goes on, eyes still focused on nothing. “A lot of things happen in my head. As opposed to, oh, I don’t know, going to parties and the like.” Her eyes return to the present, and to Kathryn’s face. This time, her smile is a little self-deprecating.

Kathryn joins it, nevertheless. “I’m like that, too.”

“I know,” Marie winks. “And I guess we wouldn’t work out otherwise, either. Which we do.” 

“Yes,” Kathryn sighs happily. “Yes, we do.”

The look on Marie’s face changes instantly. The spark in her eye grows soft, then blooms into That Look again. “Kathryn, you… God, when you smile at me like this, you could ask anything of me, you know. Anything.” Her head comes up, then her hand. It cups Kathryn’s neck, and pulls her down for a kiss, achingly tender. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I…” Kathryn’s throat is uncooperative again. She looks aside, troubled and angry at herself.

Marie’s finger on her lips draws Kathryn’s eyes towards her lover again. “Don’t,” she says softly. “Kathryn, please don’t ever say ‘I love you, too’ just out of reflex. Say it when you mean it. Tell me what’s on your mind, tell me the things you want or need to tell me, but don’t ever say a thing just because you think I expect to hear it, or might want to hear it.” Her smile is back. “You didn’t, up to now, and I’d much rather you didn’t start. I’d rather you smiled at me like you did just now.” 

Kathryn takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. Tries a smile, finds it mirrored, and relaxes a little. “So… what happened next?”

“Huh? Oh. Um, when I finished school, I moved to Cologne. Took up my studies, floundered for a bit, met Ellie…” Marie’s hand waves about.

“How about relationships?” That reaps a grimace.

“One, but she wasn’t… good for me. I mean, a pillar of strength does have its needs, right, and… Well. We broke up after two years, and I really threw myself into learning. After finishing my studies, I worked with disadvantaged young people for a while, and it was… good. Tough, but good. When the project ended, I found another job, as an emergency counselor with Cologne rescue services. I didn’t last a year there,” she sighs, “you wouldn’t believe…” She closes her eyes, and Kathryn smoothes her thumb down Marie’s brow, trying to erase the frown. 

“No, I guess I wouldn’t.” Kathryn’s mind races. She never knew. Rescue services – accidents and tragedies. Obviously they need counselors, for victims and saviors alike. Not an enviable job. It does explain why Marie greeted the ambulance drivers in the Carnival crowd so amiably, though.

“I did meet my second girlfriend through it, at least. But still, I couldn’t go on. And then…” Marie laughs a little, ending in another grimace. “Then what did I do but take up a job in a women’s refuge. Still, I lasted longer there. Five years, two of which as manager. Are there women’s refuges still, Kathryn?”

“I know there are some on Bajor, but I don’t… I don’t know how it is on Earth.” 

Again, Marie’s eyes turn away, and she huffs. “Well, wouldn’t it be nice if they weren’t necessary anymore? Basically, they’re a place women can take run away to when they suffer from domestic violence, though I’d find it really hard to believe that this society, advanced as it is, has rooted out domestic violence.” She looks at nothing for a moment, then inhales sharply through her nose. “It can come from so many sources, for so many reasons, you know? Spouses, parents, substance abuse, religion, or maybe the person she’s running away from simply is a sociopath.” Kathryn’s never heard Marie speak so bitterly. Her next words are more matter-of-factly, as if Marie herself is taken aback by how harsh she’d sounded. “Usually, we tried to help those women get away in the first place, and then either re-establish a working relationship with those she left, or, failing that, a new life somewhere else.”

She takes another deep breath and looks fully at Kathryn. There’s pain in her eyes, deep, aching pain, and Kathryn runs her hand across Marie’s forehead again, blinking rapidly. A corner of Marie’s mouth comes up in a sad, sad smile, and her hand reaches up and grasps Kathryn’s, tugging it down and holding it close to her cheek. Then the younger woman slowly closes her eyes.

“In the five years I’ve worked there, we cared for roughly a thousand women, and we had to send about half as many away again because we just didn’t have the space. And that was just my house, and just those who applied for a place, instead of ambulant counseling. There was another house in Cologne, and I was lobbying for a third just before I…” she grimaces, “left.

“From the women who gained a place… well, they all leave again, sooner or later, don’t they. Some leave for a new life, sometimes with a new identity, some go back to their families and it works, some go back and it… doesn’t.” Marie’s breath comes heavily by now, and a tear runs from one closed eye. Kathryn catches it, feeling jaw muscles work underneath her finger. “I lost… sixteen people I know of. Five were found, two of them despite new identities, and killed by family members. Three were sent back to the country their family came from, were married against their wishes, and were killed for trying to get away. Four were lured back by the people back home and…” her voice has been getting steadily scratchier. Now it breaks. Kathryn keeps stroking her forehead and cheek – what else can she do? “Two we lost,” Marie goes on finally, “before they even moved in with us, when they tried to leave their homes. One killed herself and her son because she couldn’t bear to wait until we had a place for her.” 

Marie’s jaws work harshly for a moment. Then she takes another deep breath and opens her eyes. Another tear is shaken loose by the movement. “And that is only a count of those we know about.”

Kathryn is quiet. Truth to tell, she’s speechless – what can you say, in response to something like this? Again, a small, sad smile flutters across Marie’s face, and she sits up a little and pulls Kathryn close. 

“You know the worst thing?” the younger woman asks Kathryn’s neck. “It’s not when you learn about those who died. No, it’s _not_ knowing about the others. The ones who contact you for the first time, sounding so urgent, and then never turn up again. The ones who leave and don’t return for follow-up counseling. Are they alright? Did it work out? Or… or didn’t it?” She pulls away from Kathryn and pushes her glasses up again, looking down on the sofa. “That’s something I envy you for, you know. You can order people to do what you think is right. I can’t count the times I’ve wished I were able to do that; but no, when you’re a social worker, you have to let people make their own decisions, don’t you, even when you think they’re making a horrible mistake. And then they do, and then they die, and you’re left sitting there. Or you’re just left sitting there, not knowing anything at all. And while I know, rationally, that I’m not responsible for their decisions, still I can’t help…” There’s a bitter twist around her mouth, lines, too; lines Kathryn doesn’t like seeing at all. Marie’s next words are so quiet Kathryn has to strain to hear them. “It killed my second relationship, too.”

“Your…”

Another smile, sad and bitter, not much more than a short twitch. “I couldn’t tell her much about my work, you see, and she couldn’t bear not knowing, but just the same, she couldn’t bear what little I could tell her, either. But I guess the former was worse than the latter.” And another painful grimace. “I can’t even blame her.”

“Marie…” Words are infinitely hard to find. Easier, by far, to cup Marie’s cheek again, and so gratifying to find that cheek snuggling into her palm. So poignant, and so very, very important, when the younger woman starts to sob.

* * *

Kathryn holds me for the longest time. It’s another step, a large one, too, and mine to have taken, this time. I don’t let go, as a rule. Oh, I can relax, kick back, those things. And hell yes, when I have those nightmares, I cry in her arms as well, but that’s different, somehow. This has been deliberate, a conscious decision to tell her, and to let her see what it has cost me. I guess, in a way, I have a mask just as obstinate as hers. Having my last relationship end like it had doesn’t help, either.

“So, you see, I’m really, really good at trauma and emergency counseling,” I tell her, in the end, smiling shakily. “And I didn’t even cry when I told Commander Chakotay. Well. Not that I told him about my relationship, right? I _was_ close to tears when he looked at me in that way he has, but…” I fidget with my glasses again, finally taking them off to clean them with a tissue. The box is nearly empty – again. “He took pity on me before I collapsed, I guess.”

“He’s good like that,” Kathryn agrees, tone light, eyes grave still. Sitting less than an arm’s length away, I can see that much, at least. “Oh, Marie.”

“Don’t – I’ll just get started again.” I raise my hand to touch her cheek. Glasses back where they belong, I can see traces of tears there, and I have to end this right now or we’ll both turn to blubber. My chin comes up, as does the corner of my mouth. “It’s okay. It ended almost a year before we met, you and me. And even though I… can’t say I’m completely over it, it’s… it’s okay.” 

“If you say so.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

“I do. I wouldn’t if it weren’t, Kathryn, you know that.”

Finally, she smiles at me. “I do.” God, I really would do anything if she smiled like this when she asked me. I’d do anything to make her smile like this, too. 

“Well, now that you know that, is there anything else do you want to know?” I shuffle away and drop my head into her lap again.

“What- good grief, Marie, this isn’t an interview – you already have the job.”

I can’t resist, even though I know she’s teasing me. “Counselor, or Captain’s Woman?” 

She rolls her eyes, then smiles again. “Well, both.”

“Good. So nothing I say endangers my position. So ask ahead.”

“But I don’t know _what_ to ask, Marie!” I love it when I’ve got her exasperated.

“Oh, _I_ don’t know, Kathryn – you might want to know whether I’m a cat or a dog person, or which color I like best, you know, things like that.” I stretch lazily. “I never knew you slept in satin, for example – discovering _that_ was… stimulating.” 

She snorts softly, in answer to my saucy grin, then cocks her head. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Which are you, cat or dog?”

I grin. “I had cats, once. I’m not too sure about dogs. Sometimes that will to please gets on my nerves, you know. Cats don’t look up to you that way. Cats don’t look up to you, period.” She sighs wistfully, and I wink at her. I mean, she’s told me she had a dog, and somehow, it figures, too. Well, too bad, right? “If I _were_ an animal, I’d be a cat, too, of course. Cats can look at a captain, after all.”

“They can, at that,” she says diffidently, and starts playing with my hair, something I like enormously. “Well, if that’s the sort of thing we’re talking about – um… I’m really fascinated with your nose stud, you know.” She touches it with a slender finger, that sweet little frown on her brow. “Did it hurt?” 

“Oh, like the blazes, yes. But only for half a second, when the needle went in. I’d already forgotten about it about a couple of minutes later, I was so excited about having a pierced nostril. I mean, I was what, nineteen, twenty? It was shortly before Christmas, I remember that. I remember showing up at my parents’ house with it.” I laugh. “I remember how stunned I was when my _grandmother_ told me she liked it.”

“Not exactly what you’d suspect from a grandmother,” she comments, and I smile in agreement. “It fits you,” she goes on, then smiles suddenly, “and Starfleet uniform code doesn’t really apply anyway, does it?”

“Oh, I’ve always dreamed of a spiffy uniform,” I grin. “I’m sure I’d look very dapper in red. Which is my favorite color, by the way, even if the color of your eyes is a very close second.”

“Oh will you stop already.” Then she grins. “But you’d wear blue, honey.” 

I almost choke. _Honey?_ I try to cover with a grin of my own. “I know, Katie.”

She winces. “We’re just not cut out for nicknames, are we.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I do like nicknames. But I like those that just… happen, or that have a special meaning, you know. Somehow,” I press my fingers to my temples and screw my eyes nearly shut, to make her smile, “I get this feeling you don’t take well to Katie.” She does smile, indeed, very ironically, too, and I join her. “I know I hate variations of my name.”

“I didn’t know there were any,” Kathryn replies innocently and I laugh and level a finger at her.

“Nice try, Captain Devious. I’m not revealing a single one of them.”

“Not fair! You know two of mine already,” she laughs. Then, more serious, “You know, about those titles you keep coming up with…” she breaks off, shaking her head.

“You don’t like Captain Devious?” That has me worried. 

“I’m not certain, you know. They are inspired, granted, and they certainly bring my feet back to Earth again, but…”

“I wouldn’t use them in front of the crew, Kathryn. Nothing but Captain Janeway there, I assure you.” I touch her cheek. “They’re meant very lovingly, too. I mean, I do want to burst one or the other bubble with them sometimes, but in a very loving way, you see.”

She laughs, catches my hand and presses a kiss into my palm. “Oh, that’s reassuring.”

“Glad to be of service,” I murmur. “Now, where were we?”

She peers at the stud again, more closely this time. “Silver?”

“White gold. The stone’s a fake, though, not a diamond.”

“A fake!”

“Hey, give me a break, I’m a social worker, not Rockefeller. I went all out on the metal; there was nothing left for the gem. But it does shine nicely, doesn’t it? What was it I’ve read? ‘Glass glitters more than diamonds because it has more to prove.’ That one isn’t real, either,” I point to the other stud, the one in my left ear. Yes, one. So I’m odd. And I like it.

She shakes her head with a sad little sigh, and I could kiss her. “And only one of them, too. And here I thought you were a catch.” Then she grins at me and kisses my nose and leaves me baffled. Kathryn Janeway, playful. Not something you see every day. “Seems I’m the one with the big bucks around here.”

I purse my lips appreciatively at the thought, then frown, puzzled. “I thought you didn’t have – what’s it called again? A currency-based economy?”

“Well, not for the basic needs, you see. And in a way, it doesn’t really apply to _Voyager_ , either, but back home, once they invented energy-matter conversion, and, with matter-antimatter reactors, had a source of almost unlimited energy-”

“ _Now_ I understand!” I interrupt her. “God, _thank_ you, Kathryn. That was the missing bit. Of course. So basic needs are being taken care of because you can simply replicate the stuff; and more elaborate things, like when someone invests time into a complicated replicator recipe or does something the traditional way…”

She nods. “Are paid for with credits. Exactly. There’ve been times when I’ve tried to calculate my back pay, you know; fantasize about what I’m going to do with it, but I’ve given up on that as pointless.”

“I see.” Hell yes, that would irk me, too. “And since you don’t have unlimited energy on _Voyager_ , you have the replicator and the holodeck on rations.”

“Not quite; the holodeck is on its own power grid – I can’t begin to tell you how bothersome that has proved to be, too. No, we limit _that_ because of the demand.”

“I understand.” Then a corner of my mouth comes up. “So what about you? How did you grow up? How did you get to be Captain Kathryn?”

It takes her a while to tell her tale, and I’m certain she’s glossing over quite a few things. She mentions the accident that cost her both father and fiancé only in passing, but that’s okay – it’s her decision, after all, when to tell me more. And I gather that she’s far more ambitious than I am in certain ways, far less patient in others – I rest in myself more, with all the good and the bad that comes of it. Sports – I’d thought so. And I grin when she tells me how she hated to grow up so traditionally, how she loathed her father’s camping trips, how exasperated she still is about her mother vetoing the installation of a replicator for so long. She catches the glint in my eyes and chortles, herself – she cleaned the dishes back in Cologne, after all, and did a good job, too for a child of the twenty-fourth century.

I find it interesting that she started out in sciences – it’s something that’s very visibly at her core, still, even if her command style, what I’ve seen and heard of it, is terrific. And that’s not something you can learn. I’d bet good money, or credits or whatever, that that’s what Owen Paris saw in her, when he urged her to change tracks. Owen Paris. Now _that_ is a revelation in itself – she knew Tom when he was a kid? God, what a tangle. I wonder whether they’ve ever talked that one out. Well, either they have or they don’t need to; Tom and she are easy together, that’s plain enough. In fact, when I ask her what she did for recreation before she took to lounging on sofas, she mentions – well, she swats me first, but _then_ she mentions how she had to assist him in ‘a holonovel’ one day. My ears ring when she’s done explaining. Queen Arachnia? I guess I have to ask Tom Paris if he keeps records, or something like that. She sees right through me, of course – only fair that she should be able to read my face, when I can read hers.

“Don’t even think about it,” she drawls. “Tom Paris knows what’s good for his health, and, more importantly, what’s not.”

“He might be open to a trade, though. You know, a picture of you on a motorbike-”

“Marie!” Oh, she tries to tackle me and tickle me, but I’m stronger, aren’t I, even if I’ve lost quite a bit of weight – that Friiell affair, and afterwards I’ve started working out, trying to see whether I can’t keep that new shape, or even trim it up a bit. I’m quite pleased, in fact. I’ve lost two sizes, had to replicate all new clothes, too, but nothing of that matters when Kathryn is climbing all over me. She might have learned unarmed combat, but so have I – all part of the job, really. I’m rustier than she is, though, so we’re pretty evenly matched. We’re breathless when she’s finally satisfied I’m not posing a hazard to her helmsman’s health. Playful, indeed, joyfully so, and I love every second of it. 

“Speaking of pictures,” I gasp, while she smiles down at me, “which picture did you send your mother, anyway?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she taunts. Oh, she’s terrible when she has the upper hand, _terrible_.

“Uh – yes?” I cock my head. “Pretty please?”

“Oh, alright, since you’re asking so nicely.” She swings a leg over me and scoots over to grab the PADD she discarded ages ago, tapping in some orders to pull up the message she’s sent. “I debated for a while, you know. One of you, or one of the two of us…” Her eyes, looking at me over the top of the PADD, are suddenly quite vulnerable, and I scramble over to kiss her. Then I steal the PADD.

“Marie!” Once I’ve got hold of something, it’s pretty damn hard to make me let go. I can be quite terrible that way, too.

“ _That_? You sent that?” I try to sound as scandalized as I can, just to make her fret. Then I grin. “I love it.” It’s one of the series of pictures that guy took, on a train back from Venice, rendered black and white. We do look exactly like two people who’ve been on their feet for hours, but we also look exactly like two people very much in love. Kathryn’s head is snuggled against mine, highlighting the profile I love so much and the graceful lines of her chin and neck. Her arm is flung across my lap unheedingly, and it makes me remember the wonder I’ve felt that she did that, in such a public place. It’s in my eyes, too: a mixture of exhaustion, love, and tenderness, my own arm tentatively cradling Kathryn’s shoulder.

I do love it. I might not like my wilting hair too much or the way I have a bit of a double chin (which is gone by now, too, what’s more), but that fades to nothing, nothing, compared to the gratefulness I felt that day, for having Kathryn in my arms, for having, completely by chance, a person in the opposite seat who didn’t only offer to take a picture, but captured this. Us. In love.

The perfect picture to send to a Mom, in other words.


	4. War Councils (a few days later)

“So people are daydreaming about us, huh,” Chakotay smiles. We’re sitting in the briefing room, the four of us – he, Ellie, Kathryn and me. I’d been amazed at what Ellie had coughed up when I’d asked her, curiosity burning, what kind of messages she, of all people, was getting from the Alpha Quadrant. Press feeds – but of course. I don’t know how many newspapers she read regularly, back in Cologne, and naturally she would want to be up to date here, too. But after she’d told me what she’d learned, it had been a matter of minutes to decide to contact _Voyager’s_ captain and her XO.

“It’s more than that, sir,” Ellie replies gravely. “It seems public opinion about _Voyager_ is split into factions, quite vocal and cemented factions, at that. There are those who think you’re all heroes; there are those who think that all of you, Starfleet and Maquis alike, should end up in front of a firing squad, and all the shades of grey in between. And then…” she takes a breath, squares her shoulders and tells the last bit, “well, then there are all the tabloid stories, about the Captain and her rebel Commander, or the Captain and her Borg, or the Commander and his Borg, or…” she shrugs apologetically.

Chakotay flinches at that last one, more than at the first. I hide my smile; Seven, for all her circumspection, is quite easy to read when she comes to get relationship adv- sorry, asks about interpersonal relationships in purely hypothetical scenarios. “I think we get the picture, Miss Will, thank you.” 

“I don’t much care about public opinion,” Kathryn growls, “and I couldn’t care less about tabloids, but you’re right, Ellie, this is a case of seeing the larger picture. When we get back, we won’t be facing only Starfleet, will we. We’ll be facing just that public opinion. Reg did say we’re famous,” and you can _see_ how she doesn’t like the idea, “but I hadn’t really thought about the implications.” She looks at the table in front of her for a moment. “Well, congratulations, Miss Will,” she smiles at Ellie tightly, “you’ve been just appointed _Voyager’s_ press agent. Tell Reg to find a reliable and knowledgeable press source, liaise with him and see what you can make of it.”

“Me?” Ellie swallows. “Uh, right.”

“Research anything you deem important, and tell Seven to set aside the necessary time and bandwidth. How soon can you have a report for me, if you make it priority over your sickbay and kitchen duties?”

“Ah, end of the week?”

“Do it.” I smile. I’ve heard that one several times now; it seems to be Kathryn’s phrase of choice. Ellie looks a bit overwhelmed, but nods. Chakotay throws one of his smiles at her, complete with dimples. ‘You’ll be fine,’ it says, and its result is visible immediately. Ellie nods, again, more assuredly. When she looks away, a corner of Kathryn’s twitches almost imperceptibly, and she carefully refrains from looking at Chakotay. Hell. I’d been pretty sure of Kathryn’s abilities as a CO, but she _and_ Chakotay – wow. This isn’t ‘good cop, bad cop’. This it is command authority at its best, neatly divided and agreed upon.

“We need to come up with a number of other things, as well, I think,” I put in my two cents’ worth. “As soon as we know more about this, we should think about how we’re going to address things like media inquiries when they come – I’m amazed, actually, that there haven’t been any yet.”

“Well, Project Pathfinder is a Starfleet project. I guess they simply don’t give them access,” Chakotay grins darkly.

“That would explain it,” I smile back at him in thanks. “And we should think about how we want the crew’s families and friends to respond to them, too. They can’t stop the media from asking them, right?” From the look on Kathryn’s face, it’s very clear she doesn’t like the taste of this, so I press on. “We’ll be home one day, and we need homes to return to. Every single crewmember deserves to have their reputation maintained, not from the Doctor’s novel, that milk is spilled, but from outside sources.” Her head comes up sharply at this. Oh, no, you don’t want to get between Captain Mother Hen and her crew. 

“I hadn’t know you were such a political animal,” Chakotay grins, well aware of both tangents, apparently. 

“Political, and legal,” I quip, one-upping him, “we need to think about that, too.”

“Twenty-odd years-” Kathryn begins, but both Chakotay and me interrupt her.

“-are a long time to-” I break off when I realize Chakotay’s on it, too.

“-might be over tomorrow,” he says. “She’s right, Captain. Contingency plans. What about the Maquis crewmembers? What about Seven and Icheb? That’s exactly the larger picture we need to be looking at. And it doesn’t hurt to be prepared; we can update what we have if we need to, but if we don’t have anything, we’ll be flying into things blindly, and-”

“Alright, alright,” she holds up her hands and smiles. “Marie, hook up with a lawyer, or maybe two; we need expertise on Starfleet and regular penal law, after all. Admiral Paris will be able to give recommendations, I’m sure; he’s got quite a bit at stake after all. And he knows how the wind’s blowing in HQ, too. I’ll tell Tuvok to help you; his knowledge of Starfleet regulations is unparalleled,” she smiles wryly, “and he’ll see the logic of it, I’m certain.”

“I should be part of that round, too, Captain,” Chakotay adds. “Years ago, I started on some ideas of how to vindicate my crew if it should ever come to that. I still have those files, and we might be able to build on them. We should include Seven, too, for herself and Icheb.”

“And the Doctor,” Kathryn agrees, already checking her PADD for our schedules. “Saturday, oh-nine-hundred.” Looks around the table, and suddenly grins quite wolfishly. “What a war council. A Vulcan, an Ex-Starfleet, Ex-Maquis reinstated commander, an former Borg drone with an attitude, a hologram with a chip on his shoulder, a press agent, and a social worker. People will never know what hit them.”


	5. A Dance of Three (May 16th)

“Ladies; gentlemen.“ Kathryn’s voice calling us to order is all business, all captain, jaw set, eyes intent. I guess she’s irritated that Seven’s not here yet; the former Borg values punctuality as another form of perfection – it’s not like her to be late. Then again, it’s not like Kathryn to invite me to a tactical briefing, either. And then again, again, what she’s told me in the last few days sounds so breathtaking, so fundamental: a guest from the future, with superior weapons and armor technology and a plan to get home, _and_ pay a heavy blow to the Borg in the process? I guess she wants me to keep her enthusiasm in check. Yet when the door opens, there are two gasps, two double-takes. One from our guest who’s just entered with Seven, and one from me. Thanks, Captain, for keeping _that_ little detail to yourself.

“But…” Oh, her voice is different, more brittle, but I guess there are reasons enough, apart from age, to account for brittleness. Her face is lined, not as much as I’d expect underneath a head that’s fully white, but… They’re around her eyes, mostly; sad lines, worry lines. Not the emotions I’ve come to associate with Kathryn. My Kathryn. Her, the other Kathryn’s, uniform is strange, too, and I don’t recognize the rank; there are three pips there – she can’t have been demoted, can she? 

“I gather the two of you have met before, Admiral?” Kathryn’s voice cuts through the cottony silence of six pairs of eyes locked on the three of us. So, an admiral, huh? And a pretty shocked one, too. I wonder what Kathryn’s up to, with this. 

“Marie…” I’ve never seen _my_ Kathryn’s eyes so full of pain and naked shock. Then the familiar curtain drops, and the admiral turns from me to her younger self, back so rigid it’s got to hurt. “Proceed with the briefing, Captain.”

Kathryn gives her a long, pointed look – she knows that curtain as well as I do. Then she turns as well, nodding to Tuvok, and he proceeds indeed, with a plan that sounds quite feasible to my amateurish ears. 

I’m only listening with half a one of them, anyway. I know, now, my part of this mission, and it’s not to comment on tactical scenarios, is it. My eyes are on _her_ , Admiral Janeway, for the whole exchange, noticing the little signs I’ve come to know so well. Signs Captain Janeway has learned to suppress when I’m watching (and that, and my exasperation with it, is another story in itself), signs the admiral still employs without realizing. So I guess she does know me, but apparently hasn’t known me long enough to become accustomed to my scrutiny. 

She holds herself too straight; I can practically _hear_ her shoulders and lower back protest as she slowly walks around the room and puts the table between me, the group in front of the screen, and her. I know she’s seeking refuge in that barrier and in concentrating on the conversation, and her ignoring me gives me the opportunity to scan her face quite openly. When Harry finds words, good, eloquent words, to reassure my Kathryn (both Kathryns, really, although I don’t think he realizes he’s affecting both of them) that they’re all with her, her lower lip purses minutely. It’s barely a twitch, and you’d only notice if you were looking for it, waiting for it, and with the same diligence I note how her eyes narrow infinitesimally, how the corners of her mouth drop. According to my Manual of Janeway Facial Expressions, she’s upset, close to crying, quite probably at realizing how tightly the crew stands behind her younger self.

My Kathryn knows those signs, too, of course, and so the look that passes between the two of them when Tom gives a toast to ‘the journey’ is so full of emotion that it practically sizzles. Then the admiral turns on her heel and leaves. You can’t call it fleeing because Starfleet officers don’t flee, but I guess everyone knows that’s what she’s doing; Harry’s almost audible gulp clearly says so. When I realize what my Kathryn must be up to, Captain Counselor gets full marks for deviousness. I catch her eye, indicate the door her older self has just disappeared through with a slight tilt of my head, and she nods, turning back to her officers when I leave quietly.

Admiral Kathryn Janeway is in the ready room, up in front of the couch, staring out of the viewport, hands knit behind her back. She doesn’t turn when I enter, doesn’t turn when I walk to the replicator, doesn’t turn when I order coffee, blend three, black. It’s Kathryn’s customary choice of an evening, a comfortable roast, not as exciting as the morning blend, but not as bland as tea, either. I’ve spend quite a lot of my free time perfecting it, in fact – with Ellie’s help, of course. 

She doesn’t turn nor look when she accepts the cup. Doesn’t drink from it, either.

“At least look at me, will you?” I say softly. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Her voice is flinty, steely, ramrod-straight as her back. Well now, ‘here’ can mean two things, can’t it?

“I’m glad I am, you know.” And that’s an answer to both possible questions, too, I suppose. At least her reaction tells me what she chooses to make of it – she closes her eyes slowly, a frown on her brow, and that’s another expression straight from the Manual. Heavy-hearted regret; guilt, too. “So tell me. Am I going to be killed, too?” Now that gets more of a reaction. She almost jumps, but at least she _is_ looking at me now, eyes wide before she remembers to guard them.

“What has she told you?” 

“She didn’t have to tell me anything. I saw the look on her face when she and Tuvok walked into the briefing room, earlier. I saw the way you kept looking at Seven, too. Don’t worry,” I hold up my hand in one of her own gestures, and she raises an eyebrow at me; white, but no less eloquent. “They’re so excited, so occupied with finding plans for the return to Earth; I doubt anyone has noticed.” I can’t help but smile at her as I would smile at my Kathryn when she’s worrying too much. This Kathryn’s eyes search my face almost hungrily for a second, then the curtain drops once more, and once more, she turns away from me. Her reaction helps me estimate when the famous trousers of time split for her and my Kathryn – this one has no idea that, and why, I can read her so well. Again, I can’t suppress another small, wry smile.

“You never asked me, did you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You never asked me to come with you, back in Cologne.” Again, her eyes close briefly, but the frown is different, as is the way she sets her chin; I guess her eyelids contain Glare #5 – I can’t believe anyone would be so irresponsible/stupid/reckless. The corners of her mouth drop sharply. She’s angry and disappointed, and even more so because it’s about herself. Well. In a manner of speaking.

“I don’t believe it. I’d never-” still, her back is towards me.

“Did you kiss me back, at least?” That’s better. She whirls around to face me, with Glare #12 – kick-to-the-stomach disbelief.

“What!” 

“Don’t tell me I didn’t kiss you. That was the best move I ever made.” And my eyes readily call up that look again, the banked flames, the desire, the challenge I remember so well. She remembers, too, apparently. Her eyes can’t seem to break away; they widen, soften. Fill. There can’t be much more than an inch between her lips and mine when she withdraws and turns towards the stars again.

“You did.” Her voice is pressed.

“And you turned away.” Mine is soft, soft as her eyes were right now, just to thwart her defenses. Well, now we know the point of divergence, don’t we. 

“Of course I did.”

Of course she did. Oh, Kathryn. Her jaw is working furiously, and she’s tense enough to power a small shuttle. “Well, _she_ didn’t. And, as far as I’m concerned, that was the best move she ever made.”

“How can you-” It’s barely more than a breath, and her mouth clamps shut after those three words, but at least she does say them.

“…know? Easy. I can’t.” I shrug, and the movement brings her eyes back to my face, incredulous once more. Definitely not used to me. “I don’t know if I, or she, or all of us will be dead tomorrow, assimilated, mutated, lost in a transporter accident or what-have-you. No-one knows that. Well. Of course _you_ do,” I grin at her, trying to wake a matching sparkle in her eye, and for a fleeting moment, there is one, and I know she refrains from rolling her eyes. “But then again, you’re here to change that, so all bets are off again, aren’t they?”

“She told you that, did she?”

“Why is it so important to you what she told me?” I shrug again when she doesn’t answer. “In the beginning, she just said we had a guest from the future. A guest with a plan, and the necessary supplies, to get back to Earth a lot quicker than calculated. She was quite rattled when she told me, come to think of it, and we’re going to have a nice long talk, too, about how she didn’t tell me just who our guest was.” That, at least, gets a smirk, or a grimace, rather. “Then, after a few days in which you could practically smell the sawdust, we fly into that nebula, explode two Borg cubes just like _that_ ,” I snap my fingers, “and then fly right out again, but not before everyone close to a viewport sees a huge array of Borg _something_. 

“And then, not much later, she comes home and says nothing, nothing at all, just stares out at the stars, looking like she’s seen a ghost, or maybe several. I guess that was after you told her about Tuvok, and Seven, and whoever else might not make it.” I’m not making this a question, and she doesn’t make a move to answer it, as I’d known she wouldn’t. I don’t really need an answer, anyway. “Oh, and all the time, she kept complaining about how unbelievably stubborn and presumptuous our guest was. You should have seen her gesticulating.”

“I hope you reminded her how stubborn _she_ can be.”

“I didn’t have to, did I? You’re both you.” I have to talk to my Kathryn about this further, later – introspection, yes; self-reflection, yes, but seeing your own self from a possible future? I wonder what she made of it. But now’s certainly not the time.

“Not quite, I’m beginning to see. She did accuse me of cynicism.” The admiral’s gaze is back towards the viewport again, but I doubt she’s seeing anything.

“She wouldn’t do that without a reason, you know that. But then again, she’s always hardest on herself,” I huff a little laugh, “not that you need telling.” A pause, then I look at her intently. “Did you merit it?”

She’s silent for a long time. Then her shoulders lose a bit of their tension. “I guess I did.” She drops her gaze and takes the first sip of the coffee in her hands, then looks at me in surprise. “That’s the best coffee I ever had on _Voyager_.”

“That’s what she tells me. Took me quite some time, too. Try blend one and four, as well, while you’re here. ‘Morning’ and ‘special occasions’”, I elaborate for her raised eyebrow.

“You still don’t drink any?”

I shudder exaggeratedly, and it wins me a fleeting smile. Her eyes are guarded, still, but I can see it working in her, the fact that I’m here, in the ready room, and comfortable, the fact that I programmed the replicator, and _Voyager’s_ replicator at that, with four blends of coffee, just for her. “Feeling more at home now?” Immediately, her eyes grow wary again, and I have to suppress a sigh.

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, you’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand, you’re back on your ship, surrounded by crewmembers you remember dead…” Bull’s eye. 

“You’re dangerous, Marie Vey,” she whispers, eyes dark but open, at least.

“Got to sneak up on you, haven’t I?” Time for that sigh, now. “Got to rip that Captain’s mask off your face every now and then, haven’t I? You’re holding onto it so tightly you’ve forgotten how to let go, and that was exactly what I meant back then. Just how long have you done that, twenty years? Twenty-five? Thirty?”

“That’s way out of-” she begins, trying to find her feet with laying into me, but I laugh, right into her face.

“Oh, bullshit. Don’t you see? I’ve been here for months, and you never knew I was here, don’t tell me otherwise. There’s been no compromise of command authority, no breakdown of general order, nothing even close to mutiny, none of those things that made you pull back from me. Hell, yes, there were a few issues, but we were, every one of us, stubborn enough and flexible enough to find a way. 

“Hell, Admiral,” and I put quite a bit of venom into that, just to keep her off balance, “the crew is happy for their captain, don’t you realize? Some of them have even told _me_ , and the one word I heard, every single time they did, was ‘finally’. They’ve been _waiting_ for Kathryn Janeway to find someone to love; Tom even had a pool!” She closes her eyes again, as if not seeing me meant not having to hear my words. I’m not letting up, though. If what Kathryn’s told me – the little that she has – is true, this is not the time to mince words. This calls for bluntness, as forceful as I can make it.

“If fear made you turn away from me back then, well – look at me, look at her, and look at yourself, too. When was the last time you let someone in behind your mask? You’ve become far too used to not letting anyone in on your decision-making, I’m thinking, just to be able to be the one nobly accepting sole responsibility if things went wrong. And you’ve become isolated that way, from everyone, especially yourself.” I cross my arms and look pensively at the floor, then back up at her, complete with pursed lips and curtained eyes. Oh, I know full well how much she hates when I imitate her. I do it precisely because of it. The flare in her eyes when she opens them again tells me my move has reached its goal.

“You came here to help us find our way home, and I’m certain everyone appreciates that, and what it must have cost you. But, you know, you may want to consider the possibility that you might find something _you_ lost, too.” I turn and don’t look back when I walk out, leaving her to whatever thoughts my little monologue has woken.

~~~

If I had known I would end up seeing neither of them again for as long as this, I’m not sure I would have said what I’ve said, even though I’m quite certain their reclusion probably isn’t a result of any words of mine. Well, my Kathryn did come home that night, for about four hours of sleep; the agreed-upon bare minimum when she’s hard at work on something that’s not a red-alert situation. When she rose again, she did tell me in no uncertain terms to go on sleeping, and to not worry about her – didn’t make it an order, though, so I’m free to fret as much as I like. I try to find confidence in the knowledge that she, or at least someone of the senior staff, would inform me if something was wrong. As it is, it’s Chakotay who tells me, over lunch, that they’re in sickbay, both Kathryns together with the Doctor and Seven, hard at work on some way to defeat the Borg. 

“Just my luck,” I grumble to myself, impaling a hapless bit of chicken on my fork, “the only two crewmembers aboard who don’t really need sleep or nourishment.”

“Don’t worry,” he gives me one of his small smiles. “Chances are at least one of them will be aware enough of human needs to remind the others, every now and then, that rest and food are good ideas.” 

“Any idea what’s going on in there?” 

“No more than you, I’m sure,” he tells me, but his smile eludes him this time. We’re in the mess hall, and my first impulse is to attribute his evasiveness to the public view we’re in, but the lopsidedness of his smile makes me reconsider. No-one’s close enough to hear what we say, anyway.

“Anything wrong between Seven and you?” 

His fork stops halfway to his open mouth, then resumes course. He chews carefully, eyes pensive and straight ahead. When he’s finished enough to answer, his voice is gentle. I wonder if he realizes how different he sounds when he speaks about someone he loves. “She’s been distant, for some reason. But they’re so intent on what they’re doing, and it’s not…” he shrugs apologetically.

“…not unexpected behavior for Seven when she concentrates on something, right?” A nod. “But you’re afraid it might be more than that, what with having a guest from the future; a guest who looks at Seven ever so oddly every now and then.” The admiral’s been giving _him_ the same sidelong glances, but if he hasn’t noticed them, I’m certainly not going to bring them up.

“The admiral is very careful about what she says and does,” he hedges.

“And you’re very observant, especially when it comes to people you care about. And they’re the two, well, I guess three, people you care about most.”

“You’re observant, too, it seems.” I roll my eyes, and we share a little smile. It’s my job to be, after all, and part of his, too.

“Talk to Seven,” I point my fork at him. “Soon. Maybe she really is just preoccupied. Maybe she doesn’t even know that this behavior of hers is… uncomfortable for you.”

His comm. badge interrupts whatever he wanted to answer. “Janeway to Chakotay.”

“Go ahead, Captain,” he acknowledges the call without missing a beat.

“Please report to the briefing room immediately.”

“On my way.” He rises and looks down at me. “Well, I guess this means they’re finished with whatever they’ve been doing. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks,” I smile at him, and tell him I’ll take care of his tray, and he nods and leaves. 

I guess by now we’re fully over all the jealousy and finding of roles. In fact, after that first ugly hassle, we found a professional rapport quite quickly, and a personal is coming along. About a month ago, he even told me he was actually quite relieved to have someone with professional training to help with the counseling aspects of the XO’s job. And he did find me a small room with three chairs and a low table, for seeing people privately, and that’s where I retreat to now. My personal PADD – I get confused using more than one – tells me a text message waits for me.

> \--Marie,  
>  Sorry I’ve been so abrupt this morning. I expect the briefing to be quick – mind if I drop in afterwards? :-*  
>  Kathryn--

I love how she’s adding twenty-first-century typed emoticons to her messages, wherever she knows them from; I doubt anyone would think she can be so sweet. I type a quick reply to let her know I don’t mind in the least, and resume my musings about Chakotay and Seven, and me and Seven, too. I’m still not quite sure what the Ex-Borg makes of me, really. She did come to see me and ask me questions, that day, and then, a few days later, she asked me about romance. And then, in her very next words, she voiced her misgivings about my ability to help her with propositioning a male partner – well, I explained how some things apply generally, and some only individually, anyway, no matter what sex said individual, and we went on from there, and somehow I like to think what I said helped the two of them. In truth, though, I have no idea, since trying to get feedback from Seven is… futile, if you don’t expressly order her to tell you what she’s thinking, and that’s something I won’t do; well, no counselor would – not that she’d heed me, anyway, I’m sure. There aren’t many people she opens up to. Then the door chimes, and I know one of them is standing right outside.

“Come in,” I call, setting aside my thoughts about Seven and romance, and Kathryn drops into one of what I grandly call my visitor’s chairs, and visibly relaxes. Getting up and moving towards my replicator, I appreciate her for several reasons – I like that she feels at ease enough to relax right here, right now. I like her to relax, period. And of course, she looks drop-dead gorgeous when she does – sprawled sideways, eyes closed, legs angled off to one side; a nice diagonal across the chair, in fact. Elegant slumming, I can’t help calling it, even though it makes me think of the album every time I do. The first time I saw her slouch like that in her captain’s chair, smack in the middle of the bridge, I nearly choked because that’s how she sat on my _sofa_ , back in Cologne, for heaven’s sake. But then I noticed how used everyone was to it, and realized how right at home she was in that chair. It’s a good sign that she’s feeling that comfortable in the counselor’s visitor’s chair, too, I guess. 

“She’s changed,” she offers when I pass her the customary cup, blend two: all-purpose. Gods, am I ever glad this office, small as it is, has a replicator. Tea, coffee, tissues, foam-padded sticks and protective gear – Chakotay sure raised his eyebrows when he signed those off, but sign them off he did, and now they sit on the shelf; a conversation-opener, if nothing else.

“The admiral?” A nod. “For the better?” Another one, and small smile, even.

“She’s stopped trying to get things her way all the time. We’re collaborating, quite nicely, in fact. I don’t know what you said to her, but I salute you.” She does indeed, her cup rising the same way the corners of her mouth do. I tilt my head in a passing imitation of Tuvok. It irks me that I still can’t get that lone eyebrow quite right, but she doesn’t mind, her amused smile tells me so.

“Maybe she got there on her own. She’s you, you know, and I do remember complimenting you for introspection once upon a time.” Her smile deepens, and I have to get my thoughts back on topic. “I gather you’re working on your plan to get back to Earth?”

“Yes,” and something about that plan makes her smile vanish instantly. I’ve rarely seen her so grave, and, as I try to think of my own wild layman’s theories of how we could manage to destroy the hub and still use it beforehand, one scenario is practically jumping up and down for attention.

“Someone is staying behind, sacrificing themselves.”

She closes her eyes, as I’ve seen the admiral do two days ago; yet, since she’s my Kathryn, the rest of her face remains open to my scrutiny. Pain and infinite regret, and again I know I’m on target. I move forwards in my chair, closer to her, but not too close. I know better than to touch her shoulder, either. This is a work-related conversation, after all, for all that we are behind closed doors. So, her sudden move surprises me – sufficient kinetic energy to bring her from her chair to my arms in one fluid motion, not enough force to upset my chair, or spill the coffee. For a short moment, her cheek touches my ear, as one of her hands presses my head to hers. I can’t even hug her back before she’s standing again, cup on the table and hands up at her hairline. She runs them over her scalp, cups them around her neck, turns back to me again with a deep breath, and new lines around her mouth.

“She is.” 

I nod. “I thought so.” This gets me a raised eyebrow. “Under every other circumstance,” I go on, “I’d have sworn that you would be the one who’d stay behind. But since she’s here, and she’s you, and it would upset the timeline if she came back with us… well, it doesn’t take a Vulcan to see the logic, does it.”

“God, Marie,” she exhales slowly, flops into the chair again. “I can’t begin to tell you how it feels to… to ask her, ask another me, in a way, to make that sacrifice. And I don’t know if it feels worse that I didn’t have to ask at all, you know? We didn’t even talk about it. It just… we just looked at one another, and went on planning, decision made. And yet…” her voice drops away. It’s a wonder she said this much, at all. She’s come a long way, not with regard to introspection, but in expressing what she finds when she does look into her heart. She’s looking at the floor, and doesn’t see the proud tenderness in my eyes, and the way I hurt for her.

“And yet you would like to tell her how much you appreciate it. And yet you’re sure she knows, because she’s you. And yet you’d still like to express it, and yet you don’t know how, and you know that she knows you’re not good expressing something like this, and yet you think she’d like to hear it, despite, or maybe exactly because it’s so difficult for you.” 

“You certainly get your mind around that much better than I do,” she picks up her cup and raises it again, and I find a clear, slightly ironic smile to put into my eyes.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” I wink at her. This particular joke is slowly getting familiar, and I like it that way. The first time I teased her with it, she flinched so hard she almost pulled a muscle.

“No it’s not.” It’s been her answer then, its quickness telling me the real reason, the one she’s not voicing. It’s been her answer ever since, and my smile deepens to see the words come with a smile by now. From time to time, I’m even getting a kiss out of it, but not today. 

“Tell her,” I urge her, growing serious again. “I’m sure she’d like it.” 

“Why don’t we both tell her?”

“I’m not sure she wants to see me.”

“I am, Marie. I saw the impact it had on her when she first saw you. I haven’t asked her-“

“Of course you haven’t,” I murmur, and catch a swat to my arm, and another smile.

“-but my guess is she… there’s such a lot of… of deadness in her eyes. Not just loneliness. Somehow, bit by bit, she…” She takes a long, low breath, and I can hear the names she’s not naming. Seven. Chakotay. Tuvok. Exactly the three prime suspects to draw Kathryn Janeway, admiral or no, out of self-imposed isolation. And who knows who else is dead where the admiral comes from. “When she talks to… people here, I can see how she relaxes when she forgets who, and where, and when she is. But I’ve seen that knowledge come crashing back often enough, and…” she breaks off again.

“I can imagine,” I sigh, studying the carpet. She cups my cheek with a hand hot from holding a cup of coffee, and I meet her eyes in surprise. 

“I never realized, Marie. Never, until… Thank you.” Her lips are hot, too, and taste of coffee – the only way I’ll tolerate the bitterness. 

I try to relax the lump in my throat by kissing her right back, but the longer we kiss, the more it constricts. My eyes are full when I break away. “Don’t… please, I…” I gasp, and she nods. How can we share this togetherness, this connection, when the lack of it has her future self brimming with loneliness? 

“Let’s find her,” I manage, and she nods again. 

~~~

I should have known, I think when I see which quarters she’s put our guest in – the ones furthest away from the captain’s quarters. Kathryn sure didn’t want her future self to encounter me before she, my Kathryn, was ready for it to happen. Devious. Then again, it’s paid off, I guess. I briefly wonder what would have happened if the admiral had met Ellie – she lives a deck down, but still. I guess it’s a good thing they don’t know about one another; we certainly don’t need more complications, do we?

The chime is answered almost immediately. The admiral is standing at the viewport – at least this guest quarter has them, unlike the ones across the hall. She’s not alone; Tuvok is standing close to her, and it strikes me again how far into his considerable personal space the Vulcan will allow Kathryn Janeway. I’ve seen it when we’re out socializing, or when he visits our quarters; much farther than anyone else, and quite without caring which Kathryn, apparently. They’ve both turned towards the door at the chime, and now Tuvok looks back at the admiral, before – and my Kathryn’s breath catches when she sees them – bending down to embrace her, gently, and with infinite care, not heeding how the admiral’s arms try to crush his shoulders. Then he straightens up, comes to attention as dignified as only a Vulcan can. All four of us are well aware that the traditional Vulcan salute to live long and prosper would be quite out of place, but the air between the two them is thick with unsaid words, nevertheless. At her answering nod, he turns and walks away, silent as a ghost, and with as much attention to the two of us standing in the doorway.

“Come on in, why don’t you,” the admiral rasps. 

“I’m sorry if we-” Kathryn begins, but her older self waves it away, with a gesture so familiar I have to suppress a smile, and turns back towards the viewport. The motion is inviting rather than forbidding, so we step up to join her, Kathryn protectively in front of me, which is kind of sweet, somehow.

“I was hoping you’d come, actually.”

“You were?” My question. My surprise. The admiral half turns to me, just enough that I can see her eyebrow rise.

“Thought I’d hide from you, Marie?”

“Well, no. I guess I had hoped that you wouldn’t hide from the pain.”

“The way I did before, you mean.”

“Yes.” I step around Kathryn, my Kathryn, to touch the older Kathryn’s arm. When she turns to me fully, I can see that, and what, she’s no longer hiding, and I can see that my Kathryn’s been right. Death, and utter, utter loneliness. Her eyes are dark with it, bleak, hurting. I know she’s opening up to it, from that interaction with Tuvok just now; I know she’s strong enough to bear it, too, and when my gaze tries to express my pride in that, my love for her, no matter where or when she’s from, the look in her eyes gains a new quality – remorse, soon followed by wariness when I raise my hands to her cheeks. She doesn’t withdraw this time, though. I cup her face, left and right, then graze my splayed fingers across her scalp as I’ve done so often when Kathryn’s tense from carrying a starship’s worth of responsibility on one set of shoulders. Her hair feels different, but the place where my hands come to rest, at the nape of her neck, is so familiar that I feel hurt for a moment when I move my face closer to hers and she takes half a step backwards. 

“I don’t want a pity kiss,” she breathes, eyes riveted to mine. 

I huff; a low, short, scoundrel’s laugh. “As if.”

* * *

Oh, Kathryn remembers that expression on Marie’s face; the predatory half-smile, the dangerous, exciting, excited spark, the way Marie’s nostrils flare when she moves in for the kiss. Sultry, that look is, and the kiss bittersweet, and there’s nothing cliché in either term. Kathryn’s heart aches for the look in her older self’s eyes; both of them have kept them open when their lips met, and Kathryn hasn’t looked away, either. They are, all three of them, facing what they’re doing. There’s no protectiveness, no prevention when Kathryn moves to Marie’s side; she puts her arms around both of them on purpose, stepping into the closeness because she belongs, too. 

When, over in Marie’s office, Ellie’s words, Q’s message, had come back to Kathryn, it had nearly floored her. _He said not to worry about timelines and the like; you’d see what would have happened if you’d chosen differently, in… time._ When the admiral (and isn’t it ironic that even here, even now, Kathryn somehow can’t bring herself to call her anything else?) had looked at Marie just now, her eyes so full of longing, and regret – had she thought the same thing? Had Q berated her older self for stubbornness, too? Had she known what she’d chosen against, or had she just realized it, seeing her younger self and Marie together?

“You’re ruining my resolve,” the admiral grates when they break apart. Marie never lets go of her neck, just as the admiral’s eyes never let go of their target. 

“The wish to make things better isn’t the only form of motivation, Kathryn.” For the second time in as many minutes, Kathryn feels the stab of, well, yes, jealousy, this time at the name. It’s _her_ name, and she’s used to how it feels when Marie says it, still with that lovely little trace of a German accent. To hear Marie say it to someone else, in the same loving tones, is… not right, even if that someone is the same person, in a way. The admiral closes her eyes as if in pain, and Kathryn wonders how long it’s been since her older self has been addressed with her given name, and how much longer it’s been since she’s heard it said _this_ way. 

“That’s not what I meant,” her older self is answering, meanwhile. “Aren’t you afraid that I decide I want to stay?”

“I guess I get to have a say in that, too, don’t I?” Kathryn raises an eyebrow, a little irritated. 

“Oh, but I outrank you, Captain,” the admiral has the nerve to answer, without even looking at her younger self, and Marie – Marie has the nerve to laugh, if softly, at this. She fully deserves the glare she catches for it, too; not that she takes much notice of it.

“And this is still my ship.” 

“Oh come now, Kathryn,” and now Marie’s brown eyes are fully on her instead of on her older self, and how can she stay angry when those eyes sparkle like that? “Two beautiful women fighting for me, one of them a captain, the other an admiral, both of them Kathryn Janeway – do you have any idea how flattering that is?”

“Can’t say I have – never happened to me.” Feeling a little mollified, Kathryn feels even more reassured when Marie lifts one arm and slides it around Kathryn’s waist. The move, and the place where the hand comes to rest, is so familiar by now, and it does include her into this circle. She doesn’t notice how it makes her relax until the admiral points it out with a wistful sigh. 

“I envy you,” she tells her younger self, and, turning to Marie, goes on, “you were right. It has been the best move she ever made. For several reasons.”

“Not the least being that I’m a good kisser,” Marie grins insolently, and whoops a laugh, head thrown back, when both Kathryns roll their eyes simultaneously. 

“Oh, I missed you, Marie Vey,” the admiral whispers fervently, and Marie’s face is equally intent when she buries her remaining hand fully in the admiral’s hair and kisses her again, and more deeply this time. And just as before, Kathryn finds that she doesn’t begrudge her older self that kiss, nor the embrace that follows. In fact, when the admiral breaks away and looks at Kathryn as if daring her to object, Kathryn finds herself planting a kiss of her own on her older self’s lips, and that one’s far from being a pity kiss, too. 

Briefly, very briefly, her thoughts touch her crew – Chakotay is briefing them; the preparations – the Doctor and Seven are putting the final touch to the pathogen; and then the strangeness of kissing someone who is, for all intents and purposes, herself, lets every other thought flutter away and dissolve in the rising flames.

* * *

There are two hands on my thighs, one on my breasts and one on my stomach, one pair expertly confident, the other more hesitant but quick to learn. They’re not talking, as far as I can make out, yet despite their silence my Kathryn communicates her pointers quite well to her older self. Having the two of them make love to me is a breathtaking thought in and of itself, but it pales to the reality of what they’re making me feel. On top of that, to see them embrace, the younger body a kind mirror to the older, the older a memento mori, however well-kept, to the younger – I have to stop thinking about that or I’ll lose my focus.

Orgasm takes me when I feel one hand filling my aching wetness, and another caressing my clitoris in perfect time, and then other hands, and lips, in other places, and I have no idea at all which belongs to whom – God, I cry out, God, and Hell, and yes, and please, and more singular syllables along that vein. When I open my eyes, I see them lock theirs, see them move in and up to kiss alternately me and each other, and still, their fingers move in me, with me – I come again, and I could keep coming just from looking at them kiss, and God help me, now they’re starting on each other. 

Yet watching them make out is far too enjoyable, on a wholly different level, to just give in and join them. No, I roll to my side, ending up leaning against the wall, to give them space, and propped up on my elbow, to _see_. They were hesitant at first, but my abandon has, apparently, successfully countered any doubts. So now, where the sight of one usually suffices to leave me weak, I’m treated to the sight of two Kathryns, one silver-haired, one auburn, two matching, mirroring profiles, from the slight frown of concentration I love so much and the straight, short, beautiful nose right down to the adorable chin, even if one of them is already sagging a little. One set of lips, lips I intimately know every line and taste of, is kissing the other with a heedlessness that completely fascinates me. Two sets of hands roam the other’s body, comparing differences and likenesses, not hesitant at all anymore and visibly on familiar territory. That, too, is heedless, and fascinating, as they start to touch breasts, two of them firm and round, the other two softer, but still amazingly shapely for a woman nearing seventy or already across that threshold. Kathryn, my Kathryn, is teaching her older self how pleasant it is to touch nipple to nipple, and the admiral’s hissing intake of breath starts a tingle inside me again as well. Still I hold myself apart; I relish this too much to risk breaking the spell they’ve cast on each other.

My Kathryn is first to orgasm, and I think the look on her face is the same she has with me, even though it’s certainly not my hands that set her off. Her older self’s face of intense smugness is familiar, too, and I smile at both of them, catching my Kathryn’s shivering body in my arms and whispering soothing words into her ear. The admiral’s arms are trembling, too, and I reach out and tug at her shoulder to get her to lie down next to us. Guest quarters’ beds are nowhere near as wide as the captain’s, but we don’t need much space anyway, tangled as we are, my Kathryn sandwiched between her older self and me. This changes quickly, however, when Kathryn catches my hand and places it firmly on her older self’s right breast, while administering to the left one on her own. We all change places, the admiral ending up between the two of us, and I follow Kathryn’s lead, my experience and my intuition adding ideas of their own. And ideas are sorely needed, because the admiral, aroused though she is, is far from relaxed enough to allow herself release. 

It’s not until I hear Kathryn, my usually so silent and restrained Kathryn, murmur, croon, even growl words (and what words!) into her older self’s ear that the wave swells, oh, and how it breaks when it does. Admiral Kathryn Janeway moans, howls, gasps wild, incoherent, ragged remnants of words at us, arches off the bed, limbs and head jerking every which way. Our fingers, lips and tongues relentlessly have their way with her until she crumbles, sobs, claws at our arms to hold her, our faces to kiss her, our bodies to embrace her while she finds some resemblance of calm again. Kathryn is following my lead and her intuition now, the two of us gently caressing every reachable limb and bit of skin until the admiral’s breathing indicates she’s coming back from wherever climax has shot her.

Kathryn is fighting sleep, I can see that – four hours don’t suffice, however high the caffeine level; not when her work is demanding like that, not when she’s finally horizontal. She opts for the hard way out and rises, leaving for the bathroom and a cycle in the sonic shower both for her and for her uniform. I’ve learned that the waves will clean clothes just as well as they clean you, even though they can’t help the creases. Then again, who worries about creases at this time. My thoughts on the matter stop short, though, when I notice the admiral crying, still or again, silently. I hold out my arm and she accepts my invitation, slipping into my arms not as familiarly as my Kathryn does, but still, I think, finding a similar kind of comfort.

“I envy you,” she whispers when I kiss her hairline. She’s said it before, and I’d ached for her, same as I ache now. “Both of you. I envy her for having you, envy you your youth, and both of you the time you’ll have together.” I keep my silence, my lips still on her forehead, my breath light in her silver hair. “I know I shouldn’t.” To that, I answer with a wordless, dismissive murmur. “I can’t help it, though. This… Don’t get me wrong, this has been… extraordinary-”

“Thanks,” I murmur dryly, and my eyes meet my Kathryn’s over the top of her older self’s head. They hold a question, and I flick mine over to the door, head tilted with silent appeal. She nods and leaves. I’ll have to remember to thank her, later, for her trust. 

“-but…” I’m certain the older Kathryn has heard her younger self leave. She tilts her head back and looks at me for a breath or two, and the silence from the bathroom is loud enough; she must have noticed my Kathryn’s absence. “You’re not…”

“I’m not yours, I’m hers?” I ask softly and she nods, unable to meet my eyes any longer. “Kathryn,” I go on and wait until she looks up again. “I’m mine. I’m not crumbs off someone’s table, and I don’t think she sees it that way, either. She made love to you same as I did, didn’t she?”

“Love…” she tries the word on her tongue. “Marie, do you…” again, she falls silent.

“God, yes. I even can tell you the exact point in time when I fell in love, you know.” Oh yes, and how I cherish that memory, too.

“Oh?” The familiar frown creases her forehead and I smooth it away with my thumb, giving in to my smile.

“There was a paper cup of coffee in your hands, you were completely soaked, and you smiled because of some goofy remark of mine, or maybe just because of that cup of coffee.”

“I remember.” She’s crying again, and I kiss her again, hair, chin, salty cheekbone, nose. Hell, but she has aged gracefully. Lips, salty as well, respond when I reach them, tenderly. Lovingly.

“I can still see that smile in my mind’s eye, you know,” I tell her. “If I were as good as you are, I’d have painted it, a long time ago. You know, I haven’t seen you smile like that, not once, since you came here.”

“Well, make another goofy remark, then.”

“You’re beautiful.” I barely let her finish before I say it. It doesn’t win me a smile, but she blushes very endearingly. “You still blush.”

“Haven’t for a long time.”

“No one told you you’re beautiful in a long time? And there I thought you were an admiral, not a hermit.” I grin. Take a good look at her facial expression. Grin more broadly. “You still glare.”

“I do that a bit more often.” Her gravelly voice tries to defy her blush, unsuccessfully. 

“I’ll say.”

“I have it on the – well, a sort of authority, at least – that I’m angry when I’m beautiful, you know.” There’s a bit of pride in her voice, and I chuckle at the twisted, but lovely compliment.

“Whoever said that, they were right.”

“Q,” she says wryly.

“Heavens help me. Did you blush at that, then?”

“I guess I was too-”

“-angry at the time,” I finish the sentence, smiling at her. “You do that, when he’s around. He claimed credit, by the way, did you know? At least that’s what Tom tells me.”

“For what?” Her eyebrow raises, and I smile wickedly, both because of that and because of what I’m about to say.

“Introducing Kathryn Janeway to the one she loves.”

“And who’s that supposed to be? Himself?”

“Hey!” I swat her shoulder and give her a mock glare, and it makes my heart sing to hear her chuckle. She puts her head up on her elbow and looks down at me, her face softer than I’ve seen it since I first laid eyes on her. 

“He’s right, though. You are. It’s visible, to me at least. I hope she tells you, from time to time.” 

“She comes home every night. In time for dinner, too, unless there’s a red alert. She delegated tasks to Harry, even, to be able to spend more time with me.”

“I remember your cooking.” She sounds choked. 

“I’m luckier with the replicator than she is. More patient, perhaps.”

“God, I’d forgotten about that. I swear that thing hated me.” She drops her head back to my shoulder.

“I’d second that.”

“You realize she… I… we’re not good with-”

“Oh, I know,” I shrug. “It’s alright. I say ‘I love you’, Kathryn Janeway comes home for dinner. Amounts to the same thing, really.”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“No, you’re just not used to me.” My quip wins me a playful swat – she’s a quick learner. “Masha,” I tell her suddenly, wonder about the impulse, find the reason for it. Yes.

“Hm?”

“My granddad. He used to call me Masha when I was small. Never when anyone was around, though. It was his, our secret. I never understood why he called me that, and he never explained, until I…” my voice chokes on thoughts and memories. Unshed tears, too. “Until I called him, days before I came here, to hear how he was doing. He explained who Masha had been, and I… I knew he was saying…” I have to break off again. Her silence is patient, compassionate. I exhale deeply and go on. “He was in the War, you know. World War II. And became a prisoner of war of the Russians, something every soldier feared since the Russian soldiers were intent on retaliating for Wehrmacht atrocities, and I can’t blame them. Anyway, he was held in Kazakhstan, with his girlfriend waiting for him back home and not even married, and he didn’t know whether he’d ever see her again, and then one day he comes across a little girl of three years or so, stumbling along in the camp, all white ruffles and blond locks and tears, and he is patient and nice and finds out she’s the camp commander’s daughter, and has lost her way. So he calms her down and takes her back, and she takes a shine to him; asks for him to play with her and be her guard and her horse and her climbing tree, and the commander allows it, taking him off the work detail, and…” I can’t go on, but I’ve told her enough to understand.

“Masha.” _This_ is the voice I cherish, from after-dinner conversations on a sofa beneath rainbow stars, from murmured exchanges in bed before we fall asleep, from when Kathryn Janeway shares things with me because I’m there to listen.

I nod. “Isn’t it strange how in the middle of all this terror, in a place where you hate to be, surrounded by people who can kill you at a whim, you find something like that?” I whisper. “And how would you ever tell your people back home?”

“And then he did come home, to his girlfriend, and in due time, you came along-”

“-the first female child born into the family-”

“-and he recalled another girl.” It’s me who’s crying now, quite openly because I ache for my Opa, the only member of my family I still feel, felt, close to. And she’s holding me, gently and a little hesitantly, as if I was some fragile little bauble, and I wonder how long it’s been since she last held a crying… well. I’d cried, too, back in Italy when he’d told me, once upon a universe; cried and never told anyone because really, we had enough on our minds, all of us. He’d been saying goodbye, in his way. And I’ll never know if he died believing I was… 

“I never told this to anybody,” I tell her when I can. “And I never will. I don’t want anyone to call me that, ever again, but…” I meet her eyes, and she understands. This is hers, and mine, as it was my Opa’s and mine. 

“Masha,” she whispers, tenderness and… a blessing, somehow, in her voice. 

“Kathryn.” 

She turns a little, rests her arm on my chest, and her chin on it, to look at me. “I love how you say my name.” My finger traces the lines of her face, and her eyes drop shut for a moment. She sighs when she opens them again, but it’s a memory sigh, not a sad sigh. “Goldenbird. My father used to call me that.”

“Goldenbird?” I’ve never heard of a bird of that name, but then, I’m a social worker, not an ornithologist, right?

“The phoenix.” 

_That_ revelation stuns me. The phoenix, dancing, is one of my favorite mental images, and I know my Kathryn read that book, too. “I see.” And I never knew. 

“Fitting, isn’t it?” But her voice isn’t bitter, nor are her eyes. 

I slowly caress a stray strand of her hair back behind her ear. It’s different from how my Kathryn wears it, but it looks good on her. “You know, I’ve read something about phoenixes, and it stuck in my mind. They said that the aurora,” my smile blooms, all by itself – I love the aurora, which is why I love this explanation of it, “is the phoenixes dancing. I like the idea that there’s more than one of them at a time. I like that they get the chance to dance.”

Her eyes are soft, still, and I hope she sees golden birds, burning without being consumed, and joyfully dancing, in her mind’s eye. Then a look of resolve suddenly spreads on her features. “I have to go.”

“I know,” I say softly, and kiss her once more – for the last time, quite probably. 

“You’re taking all of this quite calmly,” she says lightly.

“You know, some professions can’t afford to show how shaken they are. Social worker is one of them.” 

She raises an eyebrow, eyes alight with a small ironic smile. “I’m starting to see why it’s a good thing that you’re here,” she says, still lightly, and rises from the bed.

I grin at her. “Took her longer,” I reply dryly. “Must be the wisdom that comes with-” I wouldn’t have thought it possible. Her glare is more intense than anything I’ve ever received from my Kathryn, but then _this_ Kathryn is an admiral; I guess the promotion notice included the upgrade. “-being an admiral,” I go on smoothly. Her answering chortle takes years off her. 

She heads for the shower, takes her uniform, too, and I pick up my own rumpled clothes from where they’ve landed, much more haphazardly than either Kathryns’. Nevertheless, foregoing a shower of my own, I’m finished earlier than she is, and when she steps out of the bathroom, her captain’s, or admiral’s, mask firmly in place, she finds me standing, waiting, hands behind my back. 

I can’t help it. I never could. My lower lip trembles as I fight it, but my grin is stronger than I am. Here I stand, back straight, shoulders straighter, every inch the space cadet wanting to see an admiral off with a bit of decorum, and yet the most irreverent grin spreads on my face at seeing how bravely Admiral Kathryn Janeway fights to retain her own composure. My eyes sparkle, my grin turns a little saucy, then my whole face lights up and beams at her when she finally, finally returns my smile, infected by my example, and probably considerable hormonal residue, too. It’s not my Kathryn’s full-blown, happy smile – how can it be, thinking of what this Kathryn has been through and where she’s going. But there _is_ joy in it, of a kind, and love, and remembered laughter. Dancing, too, maybe. Certainly no deadness any longer. God, how I love her. Both of them. Her. In any incarnation.

Our shared smile passes after a second when I draw to attention, something I’ve never done before, but I did see Tuvok do it, and I guess I pass muster. She appreciates the gesture, her eyes tell me so, incredulous at first, then heavy-hearted, then… appreciative, in a way. Moved. Her chin comes up, and the resolve she was worrying about is back in her every movement.

She turns to leave, triggering the door.

“Goldenbird,” I call out softly, and she hesitates on the threshold, with a final backwards glance. My chin is high, as well, and my eyes afire with tears, and light, and sadness, and love for stubborn captains, or admirals, as the case might be. “Favorable winds, and straight flying.” I can’t wish her joyful dancing, not where she’s going, but I think she understands. The tableau holds for a heartbeat, then she inhales sharply through her nose, nods once and leaves, and the doors hisses softly shut behind her.


	6. Resolution

Love never was a shield. Love never saved anyone from anything. Still. Still. Still it’s true what they say – amor vincit omnia. Love conquers everything. I can’t deny it’s the reason why I’m here, after all, one way or another. 

And yet when the Queen’s assimilation tubules pierce my neck, it shocks me – oh, I’d felt invincible, more than just the necessary front for bluffing her, and I’d continued to feel that way even after she’d transported me into her chamber. It had been the plan, hadn’t it? The plan we’ve come up with after a crew showed a captain more valor and loyalty than an obnoxious admiral deserved, after a persistent social worker pestered me into admitting that my ideas might not necessarily be the only workable ones. We: Kathryn Janeway one and two, a renegade ex-drone, and a holographic Doctor who’s left his origins further behind than anyone on _Voyager_. We’ve done it. We’ve fooled the Borg, we’ve fooled fate, we had that goddamn cake and ate it. 

The sensation of nanoprobes coursing through me is horribly familiar, and this time, neither all the love in the world nor any of the Doctor’s ingenious ideas will protect me against them. And yet that, too, is part of the plan, and I can virtually see the pathogen set to work like the clever little deadly fellow it is. We truly don’t need words to understand each other – I can feel the Queen’s thoughts in my own; I can feel her panic, too. This time the collective doesn’t beckon with order, oh no. 

Does she feel me, too, my triumph? Can triumph overrule nanoprobes? My lungs burn; I fight for breath. It’s agony, and yet I don’t really feel it, and I simply don’t care whether that’s an effect of the assimilation or the pathogen or my – gloating. Oh yes, I gloat, and hell, who’s entitled if not me. They have fought me, hounded me, bitten my heels wherever I went, cost me ten of my crew, made me shoot two more because they’d asked to be, in case… oh yes, I do think I’m entitled. Bitter hate and gloating triumph dance a little jig, then turn and bow reverentially when love strides onto the floor, and to hell with wondering what the Borg might make of this imagery.

My ship. My _Voyager_. I see her on the screen, I see her in my Borg’s mind’s eye. They’re going home. They’ll see Earth before the day is out. My crew. Seven. Chakotay. Tuvok. They’ll live. Tom and B’Elanna and little- I wonder if they’ll call her Miral. So much has changed, after all, why not this? And, by all the gods that smiled on her that day she kissed her back, my younger self is going home, my last love at her side. Marie. Oh my Marie. The last one irreverent enough to yank away my captain’s mask. 

How careful I’d been not to let anyone come anything like close enough, after that. After leaving her, after what it had cost me. How it had felt to turn away from her, that day. How it had felt to realize I could never, ever allow myself to feel that way again – and how it felt, hours ago, to finally hold her. How it felt to have her hold me. The love in her eyes when she did. The love in her eyes when she’d dressed me down in my own ready room, and when she looked at the other version of me. Love. Oh, I’d shied from the word when it first raised its head, back then when I’d recoiled from the fire in her eyes and what it woke in me. It couldn’t have been love, could it? It was. It ever was. Amor vincit omnia – they did, the two of them. They conquered. I do envy them. I love them, too. Love fills every fiber of me, in fact, sappy as it sounds; much more assuredly than nanoprobes ever will.

The collective’s thoughts are racing, now, all remnants of crumbling will bent on destroying the little spark that ignited purgatory, but it’s too late, too late – that phoenix is dancing, joyful and elegant – Tom at the helm, surely – surrounded by a fire vastly larger than her, a fire that will never consume her; and my heart, still singing with love, defies every nanoprobe that comes its way, and laughs, and laughs, and cries and laughs with joy. I know I’m about to die, but I knew that when I set out, and how can I not laugh when this joy fills me? I know the exact moment when we’ll explode, too, but I don’t mi-


	7. Return (May 18th)

“You should be up here, Marie,” Chakotay’s voice comes from my comm. badge. He sounds… odd. Using my first name to call me to the bridge? I wonder if… or I would, if I hadn’t forbidden myself to dwell on that, all through our rocky ride. 

“I’m on my way.”

When I reach the bridge, I start to see him at helm, and briefly wonder where Tom is, but that’s not my major concern, is it, not when another absence is far more suspicious. “She’s in her ready room,” he tells me, noticing how my eyes rove the bridge.

“Did we-?” I can ask now, can’t I? 

“Harry, show us the aft view,” is his answer. 

The view changes, and I gasp. An armada of ships, more than I can count with one glance. And they look… familiar. Sleek, clean, silver flanks, blue glow from warp nacelles, red from impulse drives. Starfleet ships? “Are we in the Alpha Quadrant, then?”

His eyes are filled with joy, for all that he’s barely smiling. “Better than just the Alpha Quadrant, Marie. We’re about forty minutes from Earth.”

“Less,” Harry adds, with much more of a smile, but a heavy heart behind it when he looks beyond me, to the ready room’s door. 

“She’s done it,” Chakotay says with quiet emphasis. “She brought us home. They both did.”

“And then she went…” I point my thumb over my shoulder. He nods, eyes betraying the sigh he suppresses. “Thanks,” I tell him. Another nod.

She takes a while to acknowledge the door. When it finally opens, she’s at the window, back turned. Shoulders hunched, and tense as a whip. Oh, my Kathryn. I step up to her side. Her eyes flick to me, then back to the window.

“Doesn’t look much different, does it,” I say quietly.

“All the difference in the world, Marie,” she breathes. “All the difference in the world.” Her voice is choked, her eyes red. 

“You’re shutting yourself away, Kathryn.” I keep my voice gentle, patient.

A hitch that isn’t sigh, isn’t sob, but not too far from both. “I know.”

“They’re out there, you know, ready to celebrate. The one thing that’s keeping them from shouting with joy is their anxiousness for you. They _know_ how you feel, Kathryn. It’ll be alright to let them see.”

A deep breath. “I know,” she repeats, then turns to me, a small, sad smile on her lips. “Tell them I’ll be-”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” I interrupt her. Her eyebrows rise. “I will not leave your side. I’ll stay in here with you, or we’ll leave together, but I _will_ be at your side. Pillar of strength, remember?”

“Marie…” She chokes on my name, then grits her teeth and inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. “Stop making me cry.”

“Why should I?” I tell her, not quite as unconcerned as I sound. “You cried when I rang your door chime, go on if you need to.” 

“If I let go now-” she turns toward the window again, to escape my eyes, I guess.

“You’ll pull yourself together again. It’ll take us half an hour to reach Earth. Once we’re there, you won’t have a chance at letting go, will you.” I touch the small of her back. I can see how tense she is, but feeling her muscles hum… “Kathryn,” I whisper, and maybe I sound a little broken myself, but I ache for her so.

It’s that whisper that undoes her. She closes her eyes as if in supplication, and doesn’t pull away at all when I wrap my arms around her and hold her close, letting me be her pillar of strength for a while.

~~~

“All hands, this is the Captain. As you’ve probably heard by now, we’re back in the Alpha Quadrant. Back…” she swallows, “home, and on our way to Earth. I know Earth isn’t home for all of us, but I guess we all know the saying ‘home is where the heart is’. I want you to…” her voice almost breaks and she takes a steadying breath. “I want you to know that, whatever comes next, my heart is with all of you. Whatever Starfleet has in store for us upon our return, whatever politicians, judges, or the press throws at us, we’ll face it as we’ve faced everything so far. Together, and as far more than just a crew. As friends. As family. In this sense, in the very best way, you are home to me.

“In about fifteen minutes, we will reach Earth. I’ve already received preliminary orders to report to Headquarters directly, and to,” her voice grows cold on the next word, “ _relinquish_ Seven of Nine and Icheb, as well as our Maquis and _Equinox_ crew members, into immediate custody.” She looks at me, then at Chakotay, who looks slightly sick. 

“I do not intend to do that.” Her voice rings out, true and firm. Stunned silence is her reply.

“I can’t – I _won’t_ order you to stay behind as well, but I do ask you to stand by me on this. We are one crew, and one crew should leave _Voyager_ , or no one. They want to celebrate our return, fine. Receptions, commendations, medals, fine. But I say let them do it for all of us, or no one. If they want to make us heroes, they better acknowledge we all are. Or no one.”

“Yes!” Harry shouts hoarsely, and she smiles at him. Harry, who can barely wait to see his parents. Eternal Ensign Harry ‘Baby-Face’ Kim, for all that he’s now the captain’s right-hand man. Harry punches the air, the look on his face fierce enough to do a Klingon proud. The open comm. line echoes with similar outbursts, followed by a triple cheer, led by Tom, in sickbay from what I’ve heard, with the newest crewmember as of an hour ago. 

“Thank you.” A tear runs down Kathryn’s face, and her voice is thick with more of them. “I cannot tell you how proud I am of all of you. Serving with you has…” Her voice breaks for real, this time, and she stops for a moment. “-has been an honor, and a constant source of strength to me. Whatever fate decides to test us with next, _this_ it can’t take away from me: you. My crew, my friends. My family; both those of you who are with me right now, and those who stayed behind.” Again, she swallows. “To honor those who are not here to share the joy of coming home, please join me in a minute’s silence.”

People snap to attention, me included. She lists the names by heart, and that, now, _that_ brings tears to _my_ eyes, all in itself, and I’m sure I’m not the only one, certainly not when, at last, she reaches ‘Admiral Kathryn Janeway’, her voice barely above a whisper. When the following minute is over, Harry touches a few buttons and a whistle rings out, followed by a haunting series of chords I know very well. And I know who’s doing the singing when it starts. 

“Goin’ home, goin’ home,  
I’m jes’ goin’ home...”

Ellie. I’d know her mezzo everywhere; that clear, golden timbre. Harry taps his console again and notes and lyrics appear on the bottom of the big screen, making me smile. I don’t need them to start singing, myself; singing harmony is second nature to me anyway, and I know the song, and oh how it fits. Well. In a way. Strictly speaking, we’re not going home, Ellie and I, but then, what Kathryn’s said is true – home is people, not a place, and even if no mother and no father and not a friend I knew wait for me, I’ll be home wherever I’m loved, and loved I am. How can’t I sing, and fervently, knowing this?

The Doctor joins with his pleasant tenor, Lessing with his deep, lovely bass comes in on the second verse, and then more and more crewmembers join us, schooled and unschooled voices, passionate all. The few who don’t, our captain and first officer among them, still breathe as deeply as we who sing for _Voyager_ do, part of the singing for all their silence. I’m stunned when Seven joins us. By God, her voice is heavenly. I wonder what she makes of the song’s sentiment; after all, Earth’s not home to her, either, is it? But her eyes are clear and unwavering, fixed on the small screen in front of her that probably displays notes and lyrics same as the big one. I’d bet hers is the only pair that is. There’s audibly a lot of gulping going on, but the text is not as sad as the melody suggests, and when we end the song on its final, unexpected _major_ key right as we pass the Kuiper belt, I’m certain it’s not just my heart that opens wide. 

Going home, indeed. The stars we saw before had been unfamiliar (and how could they be, really), but I don’t need Chakotay’s announcements to recognize Neptune, welcoming us with icy, broiling clouds. I marvel at the slender, veil-like beauty of Uranus’ rings, at Saturn’s belt, much more pronounced, at Jupiter’s splendor and his wake of moons. Chakotay has clearly plotted the scenic route, but who wouldn’t indulge him, on this day? In fact, apart from that armada I saw earlier, we’ve gathered quite a host of ships, waiting for us, following us, private ones, Starfleet ones, allied ones, small, medium, large – an honorary guard, a veritable entourage, all here to see _Voyager_ home, to be able to say, ‘I was there, that day’, and who wouldn’t indulge that impulse, on this day? Fireworks crackle around us (at least I imagine them to, space hath no sound, after all – but the visual display is nothing short of ecstatic), when we pass what Chakotay refers to as Mars Defense Perimeter, and he takes _Voyager_ through a barrel roll that acknowledges fireworks, pods, ships.

Through it all, Captain Kathryn Janeway stands in the center of her bridge, all tiredness fallen from her shoulders. Proud and straight she stands, her chin high, her hand on Chakotay’s shoulder, and I wonder what on Earth she might be thinking. I’m at her right elbow, but when a blue dot appears, smack center of the big screen, I can’t help myself – I step around the conn hungrily. Granted, I haven’t been away from Earth nearly as long as everyone else has, but then again, I have never, _ever_ seen it this way, and it has always been my greatest desire. When we get close enough for me to discern oceans and landmasses, so wondrously familiar, it’s all I can do not to touch the screen reverently.

Kathryn’s come to my side, and I briefly debate whether… but if not on this day, if not with _this_ in front of all our eyes, well then when? I reach out the hand I’ve raised towards the screen, and she takes it, squeezing tightly. Instantly. Out of the corners of my eyes, I see her smile. Proud. Happy. Beautiful. Loving. Then she whispers, in that low, soft, husky, _private_ voice of hers, “Welcome, once more, Marie.” It’s what undoes me.


	8. Touchdown

They’ve given _Voyager_ license to set down on Starfleet grounds, right in front of Headquarters. Tom whoops when Chakotay laughingly asks him to the bridge for this piloting feat. The new father pulls it of flamboyantly, too, sweeping a long arc all across the peninsula, barrel-rolling through another blast of fireworks and setting off some of his own quite without being ordered to – oh, he’s in his element, grinning fit to split his head, but Kathryn indulges him. She might even confess to a smile of her own, even if it’s not as wide as his. 

They can see people waving, cheering, hopping; Tom flies so low. Then Golden Gate Bridge looms in front of them, and he dips even lower.

“Are you quite certain we have enough clearance for that stunt, Mister Paris?” Kathryn grates in her best ‘stern captain’ voice, and he grins even wider, if at all possible.

“We don’t.” And just like that, he sends _Voyager’s_ belly through the waves, with a terrific bow wave that drenches _everyone_ standing on the landmark. “It’s May,” he shrugs, “and sunny for once. They’ll dry.”

“You could have taken out the deflector dish, you know.”

“Oh pshish,” he drawls, “not at this speed.” It makes her laugh. And it feels so good, Marie’s fingers knit with hers, that Kathryn simply goes on. Everyone does. 

He does set down light as a feather on the cordoned-off square in front of HQ. Oh, Kathryn knows him; he’s probably run this exact landing sequence a million times in the holodeck. There are square miles of red carpet, and everything from journalists to available dignitaries to a sea of uniforms to an honor guard. Those, though, aren’t there for ceremonial purposes, Kathryn supposes. 

Nechayev keeps her calm, but Haftel and Louvois are livid when Kathryn delivers her ultimatum via comm. line. Of course they all realize what kind of image a united crew of Maquis and Starfleet, stepping from _Voyager_ with closed ranks, will present. Owen Paris doesn’t even bother to hide his grin, standing behind Haftel as he is. The opposing admirals don’t stand a chance, though – through sensors Harry has conveniently forgotten to mute, they can hear the chant of the crowd, demanding to see the ‘Voy-a-gers, Voy-a-gers, Voy-a-gers’. 

When they do step out, side by side and all together, all hell breaks loose. Kathryn knows it’s but a reprieve, knows there’ll be a price to pay later on, knows that the admiralty won’t underestimate her again. Louvois’ face in particular is a reminder, as the four admirals walk towards them, and ample warning. Still, it’s worth it. Better yet, when out of the crowd, people come running to hug spouses and friends, Maquis and Starfleet alike. Imagers flash – what pictures. Ellie has concerted this, with her press liaison, while Kathryn had carefully looked the other way. She herself had only asked a message be relayed to her family, asking, no, begging for forgiveness. Crying on her bridge had been bad enough, no matter what Marie had said. Admiral Edward Janeway’s widow and daughter will understand.

She raises a hand after a few moments of this, and a hush spreads over the crowd. Behind her, too far behind her, she can hear Marie’s amused chortle. Both she and Ellie are keeping out of the lines of sight of imager lenses as much as they can, and that’s part of the plan, too. No sense in raising more questions or rumors than necessary, Marie had said, and Ellie had added that they didn’t belong in pictures captioned ‘ _Voyager_ heroes’ anyway.

Over the course of several discussions of their ‘war council’, Kathryn’s come to appreciate the two women’s political acumen – neither of them had been up to date on twenty-fourth century machinations when Ellie had started her research barely a month ago. Granted, hiring Jake Sisko as press liaison has been a stroke of unbelievable luck or sheer genius – the kid is brilliant, for all that he’s just twenty-two, and has an amazing grasp of Federation media as well as the political maneuverings within Starfleet. Then again, how can he not – Kathryn remembers his father and all he, and by extension Jake, has gone through. And, as Ellie had dryly remarked, politicians will be politicians, and the media will be the media. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Kathryn calls out to the mass of people in front of her, “allow me, on behalf of _Voyager’s_ entire crew, to thank you for your warm welcome. It feels incredible to stand here, to be home and reunited with our loved ones. We can understand that you,” her gesture indicates the group of reporters, including young Mister Sisko, standing off to the left, “are afire to ask us about all the things you’ve read or heard, but I would kindly ask you to understand that we can’t answer them before our debriefings.”

“You mean court-martials,” someone calls from the back of said group, but Kathryn doesn’t deign to answer her. 

“Once matters are resolved, we will be available for statements, but as things stand, you will have to wait until that time.” 

“Is it true that you’re all under arrest?”

“ _Voyager_ will take off in a short while, and land somewhere less... prominent,” the admiralty press liaison answers. “Her crew will be staying in their accustomed quarters for the time being, to help them readjust, and to make the debriefings and associated proceedings easier to handle.”

Kathryn stops listening when he fields question after question. She’d fought quite hotly for this, finally threatening again to just stay in _Voyager_ and let the crowd storm the admiralty’s conference room. It really is for the best, even if they have to wait for their real homes a little longer, and she’s glad to have everyone near and accessible. B’Elanna in a cell? Sweet little Miral separated from her mother hours after birth? Seven’s reunion with her only living relative from a detention area? Over Kathryn Janeway’s dead body. 

Admiral Paris’ reaction had helped. And Marie. It had been she, quietly speaking up as concerned ship’s counselor, who’d thrown in the argument of readjustment. All four admirals had frowned at how she’d just inserted herself in the conversation, but Marie hadn’t batted an eye, looking for all the world as if every fiber of her was exactly where it belonged, on the bridge, sitting on her captain’s right. True, too, according to the crew manifest, and Kathryn, suppressing a smile with practiced ease, had simply cocked an eyebrow until Nechayev, with a raised brow of her own, had changed the topic. 

Things were proceeding quite according to plan, all in all.


End file.
